


Love and rampaging pessimism

by Ogawdy



Category: Warcraft (2016)
Genre: All Human AU, Background Relationships, Canon Typical Violence, LARP Au, M/M, Modern AU, except it's (almost) all fake cause it's a game, i dont know anything about larping why did i write this, tragic backstories, with art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2018-10-20 17:24:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10667343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ogawdy/pseuds/Ogawdy
Summary: In the newly opened ground of the Black Morass where magic is allowed, two factions face each other for control of it: Humans and Orcs. On one side, the very famous Stormwind's Army, and Azeroth's best roleplayer: Anduin Lothar. On the other, a skilled sorcerer who goes by the name of Gul'dan. Between evil plans, distrust, betrayals and abductions... let there be LARPing.THIS STORY IS COMPLETED :)





	1. Chapter 1

The sun was already high when Anduin Lothar, Lion of Azeroth, Commander of Stormwind’s Army and best roleplayer of his generation, finally snapped and ditched his group. There was only so much one could take when four newbies ignored orders and got themselves stuck in the mud, out in plain sight in enemy territory. Lothar was pretty sure he would run them through with his sword if he had to listen to one more argument for the advantages of leather armor against mail armor. They had already gone through two Orc encounters that were only barely held off, every member of the group sustaining multiple injuries. Those were stupid battles that could have been easily avoided if only they had listened to him. As it was, Lothar was cursing newbies and this ground under his breath, cursing Llane too for sticking him in a group with four newbies, while struggling to get through the mud.

It wasn’t that Lothar hated newbies per se; he just hated bad newbies. Those who didn’t take anything seriously, who thought this was all a game and didn’t value their lives as they should, those that thought that twelve hours on a ground equaled, and surpassed, twelve years of experience and that they somehow knew better than the best roleplayer in the country. Those that rolled a dice for life or death decisions and voted majority on whether to walk through the forest on dry ground or walk straight through a morass in plain sight. Lothar didn’t care if those newbies got killed on the first day, he would actually be relieved if that was the case. Losing four members before the first night wasn’t unusual, and certainly not unfortunate when said members did not know when to listen to their elders. Lothar did not want them here on the final battle. So instead of getting angry and doing something he would regret, as he was pretty sure gutting your allies was against the rules, he decided to abandon them to fare for themselves against the five Orcs that seemed to have noticed them.

Being in full LARP armor with solid mail boots, it didn’t take long for him to reach the edge of the forest, while his former teammates were still struggling through the mud. With a satisfied smirk, he watched as the Orcs charged the group of terrified Humans, unknowingly getting themselves as stuck in the mud as them. It was a hilarious sight, and Lothar probably would have laughed if he wasn’t ready to gut himself as desperation took over. Going back to cursing newbies and stupid decisions, Lothar did not notice one Orc sneaking up on him from behind before the sword was at his throat. Obviously having taken note of his outfit, the Orc did not kill him right away, and that was a huge mistake. Ducking, Lothar swirled around, unsheathing his sword in the same movement, bringing it in one precise swing straight through the Orc’s chest. It was a killing stroke, Lothar knew that, the Orc knew that; but he didn’t stop, instead attempting to strike with his own blade.

“Oh, no you don’t.”

Abandoning all pretense of fake fighting, Lothar brought down his sword’s pommel hard against the Orc’s wrist, making him drop his weapon with a pained grunt. With one swipe of the leg, he was brought down to his knees, Lothar tying the black cloth indicating death around his head. He leaned to whisper in his ear.

“I will not report you. You will walk out of this ground nice and easy, never to be seen again. If I do see you again however, you won’t be walking in any other ground for a very long time. Understood?”

Slightly shaking, the Orc nodded. Lothar released him and watched him go, walking fast while shooting wary glances behind him. With a sigh, Lothar sheathed his sword once again, before turning his gaze to where the battle was still taking place. He started at the sight. Two Humans were still up, the other two on the side, pretending death as an Orc wrapped a black cloth around their head, while another Orc was fighting. He was skilled but that was not what worried Lothar. Two other Orcs were now rapidly marching towards him, having noticed him on the sidelines. Picking up his sword once again, Lothar assumed a defensive stance, meeting the two attackers head on. At first, all he could do was counter the attacks, but he couldn’t help but sustain two minor injuries, one on his upper arm and one on his leg. He grunted, and pushed off one of his assailants, giving him enough room to attack the other. His strike was avoided, but it put his opponent off, and Lothar send him flying with one good leg kick.

It was dirty fighting, but after all they were two against one. Turning back to the second Orc, Lothar disarmed him in three blows, plunging his blade between his arm and chest, falsely piercing through his heart. With a disappointed glare, the Orc dropped to the ground, already wrapping a black cloth around his own head. Catching his breath, Lothar turned around just in time to raise his sword in order to parry the rapidly approaching enemy blade, realizing too late that it was a feint. The blade caught him right behind the knee, hard, and there was a loud crack as he fell to the ground. With a grunt, Lothar fended off the assailant’s next attack, unsheathing the small dagger he always kept and bringing it to the other’s throat, effectively slitting it. Eyes bulging out, the Orc stumbled backwards before falling to the ground, doing a very nice impression of someone choking on his own blood.

There was a few seconds of heavy breathing, none of them moving, before the two Orcs stood up and walked off with a polite nod towards Lothar. Out of breath, he propped himself up against a tree, feeling his knee to make sure nothing was broken. It seemed fine although it hurt badly. Then, he got out the red cloths, and started indicating every injury he had sustained during the battle. Counting them, he groaned as he realized he could only bear a few more before it became deadly. Shooting a glance out on the field, he saw that the two remaining Humans had been taken down by the other two Orcs, who were walking off in the distance, fortunately ignoring him.

Lothar stayed a few minutes on the ground before standing up again, grunting at the pain in his knee. He was now alone in enemy territory, all his party brutally murdered by Orcs. He almost felt bad, thinking that maybe if he had not stormed off they would have survived, but he actually doubted it would be the case. He had barely managed to survive himself, he did not think it would have been better out in the wet mud. With a sigh, he started walking in the general direction of the Human’s camp. Maybe Llane would be kind enough not to send him on patrols again. Lothar doubted it.

***

Khadgar was beaming. He was covered in dirt, hair tousled, a large cut on the cheek from a branch, but he was impossibly happy. He had been looking forward to this LARP for months, ever since he had made all the sign-ups. His biggest dream was finally coming true. For the past week, he couldn’t stop smiling thinking of how he would finally spend an entire week of his life in the wild fighting for his kind against an enemy. The fact that this LARP, which was opening for the very first time, would benefit from the experience of one of the most known roleplayers’ group was an added bonus that Khadgar could not ignore. He had followed the Stormwinds on every social media ever since he had stumbled upon a collection of photos from their handmade cosplays. Khadgar had then fallen in love with the LARP culture. This, participating in a LARP alongside the very best, the soldiers of the Stormwind’s Army, was the best thing that could have ever happened to him. For the first time of his life, he was simply truly happy.

It was not however the case for the rest of his group. They had been sent on patrol in the bright hours of the morning, none of them knowing each other before. The first couple of hours had been uneventful. They had not met any enemy patrol and simply been walking around the forest that made up the entire south of the ground. They were four first-time players out of five, the only experienced one being from Stormwind’s Army. They had wanted to rely on him at first but it had rapidly become clear he was more than displeased with having been put with their group. Khadgar did not care. He was not about to let his once-in-a-lifetime chance be ruined by a prat, was what he was thinking. The group had naturally organized himself around the person of Serena, their cook, and they had set off in the wild. 

Before leaving, their leader, King Llane, had made a speech explaining the objectives of the day. The patrols were to stall any Orc advancement on Human territory while trying to get the closer possible to their Camp and gather information on their organization. The number one priority was not dying which meant avoiding direct confrontation for the least experienced players the key rule. Khadgar’s group had followed that rule without any difficulty since they had not even seen one Orc since the beginning of the day.

Looking back on it, this should probably have alerted them that something was off. But deep in the forest as they were, they lost track of how far into the ground they walked. Around noon, when they could see the sun through the forest’s canopy and the youngest member of their party, Juan, started complaining, they stopped to eat. Donovan, the Stormwind’s member, had scoffed at the offered dried beef and gone to sulk a few yards away while the others chatted idly. This was their first mistake.

They had just finished their meal when the Orcs attacked. They were five, wearing the blood red tabard, holding axes and broadswords and yelling. Khadgar scrambled to get up. Serena and Juan were already up, having grabbed hold of their own weapon, and they were fighting. Khadgar received a hard hit from an axe pommel in the stomach. He gasped, meeting the eyes of the Orc attacking him. He had war paint all over his face, and already a few red cloth wrapped around his body indicated quite a few injuries. Khadgar assessed that it wouldn’t take much to bring him down. 

Regaining his composure, he leapt away from the Orc, grabbing at his staff he had left propped against a tree trunk. He turned around to face the Orc who swung his axe at him. He ducked, adjusted his grip on his staff, and whipped it right at the attacker’s legs. He howled in pain, largely exaggerated, but it had a compelling effect, distracting another Orc. Serena grabbed the opportunity to jab her in the stomach with her sword, successfully killing her. The Orc went sprawling on the ground. The Orc Khadgar was facing suddenly charged towards Serena but she was prepared for the assault, parring with acute reflexes each of his blows. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Khadgar saw Lily being ganged up on by two broad muscled Orcs wielding swords against her two daggers. He was about to go help her when his road was cut off. He parred the first swing of the sword, sneering at the Orc, and went directly to the offensive. He hit her multiple times in the chest and stomach area with the tip of his staff. She leapt backwards with every blow, soon finding herself back to a tree. Her eyes widened with the realization as he whipped out his dagger from his belt and sliced her throat. She brought two shaking hands to her neck, falling to her knees, before slumping against the tree trunk, dead. Khadgar did not wait around to check if she wrapped the black band around her head. Instead, he swiveled around and assessed the situation. He could see Juan and Serena fighting back to back against two of the remaining Orcs. Another one was splayed on the ground not far from Lily’s unmoving body, both their heads wrapped in black. Donovan was nowhere to be seen.

He heard a shout and a grunt. Juan was disarmed and Khadgar could only watch as an Orc drove his blade through his chest. He was ready to jump into the fight when Serena yelled and charged towards the Orc that had just killed Juan, successfully getting the attention off of him. She shouted at him “Run, Khadgar! I’ll fight them off! Just run! You gotta get back to the camp!” He only hesitated for a second. Her shouting at him had made the two Orcs aware of his presence, although Serena was swinging her blade and jumping around them expertly and preventing them from attacking him. Khadgar ran.

He did not stop until he could not breathe anymore and finally slumped against the tree. He had been desperate to get out of the forest however in his panic he had no idea what direction he took off. There were trees everywhere he looked and the sun was in the absolute middle of the sky for all he could tell. Khadgar checked himself. He had been lucky to have kept his satchel attached when they had stopped to eat so he had managed to keep it. He took careful swallows from his gourd. He breathed deeply and slowly, trying to get his heartbeat back to normal. When he had regained a bit of energy, he proceeded to wrap red bands where he remembered having been hurt. He then decided to use one of his limited supply of healing cloths for his stomach wound. He did not want to risk taking a few more of such hits and die on the first day of LARP. He had no idea where he was in relation to the ground so he could not rule out the possibility of running into another Orc patrol. He wasn’t very optimistic for his survival but that wouldn’t mean he would not try everything he could to stay alive.

***

There was a shout. Lothar stopped in his tracks. Listening intently, he could make out voices in a nearby bush. There seemed to be three or four people, talking and laughing, but he could also hear some kind of muffled sound. Something shifty was going on there. It had been three hours since his last battle, and he was feeling more than a little suicidal, anything to get out of this god forsaken ground. As silently as he could, Lothar made his way through the trees. This far out on the ground, there was every chance this was an Orcs group. The voices grew clearer and he could finally make out some words. He hid behind a tree, looking out at what seemed to be a clearing.

“What is a poor Human doing around here, huh?”

“Looking for trouble, are we?”

There was a thump, followed by a small whine and Lothar saw red. He unsheathed his sword and jumped out into the clearing with a battle cry. There were three Orcs, recognizable by their red tabard, gathered around a curled up form. Judging by their terrified screams, they clearly weren’t expecting him. Much to Lothar’s dismay, they turned around and started running away, leaving him behind with his sword raised, ready for battle. Lothar started yelling behind them, slipping out of character despite himself.

“Really? That’s all you got? Can’t even put up a good fight, you run at first sight of an enemy sword! You’re cowards is what you are! Damn you orcs! Get back here!”

Then, quietly: “Damn newbies.”

They were already far, scattered around the ground. Lothar did not want to run after them. He hung his head, disappointed, and caught his breath. The jump had revived the pain in his leg and he gritted his teeth. This whole LARP was a disaster. He almost went back to ranting out loud when he heard a gasp to his right. Head swiveling, he found himself staring into the wide eyes of a young man. He was curled up against a tree, shivering, hands on his head. He looked terrified. He also looked absolutely miserable in his cosplay, a few stitches coming off and his blue tabard looking out of place. The sigh escaped before Lothar could prevent it.

“Like I said. Damn newbies.”

The boy in front of him flinched. Eyebrows drawn, Lothar took a second look at him. He didn’t look harmed, merely shaken up. There were tears streaming down his face, though, and it made Lothar wonder just how long these three Orcs had been bullying him. With an unsatisfied scowl, Lothar made to step near him, but he started scrambling backwards. Lothar stopped, staring intently at the boy, making clear he meant no harm as he crouched.

“Hey, there, kid. No need to be afraid. I’m with you. See? Blue tabard. I won’t hurt you.”

Not unlike how he would treat a wounded animal, Lothar extended a hand. The young man, and could he really be called a man, eyed it with distress before visibly relaxing. Lothar swallowed another sigh, observing the kid’s reaction before slumping down next to him, back to a tree. He fetched a skin of water, taking a swallow before handing it to the other man. He took it with a whispered thanks, hesitating before bringing it to his lips. Lothar knew he was staring but he couldn’t help it. The smooth, pale arch of the younger man's throat, moving as he drank, captivated him. A drop of water escaped the corner of his mouth and travelled from lips, to jaw, to neck, drawing Lothar's gaze lower. Lothar could just barely see his pulse beating against the thin skin of his neck.

He was snapped out of his ogling when the youth's head bent forward again. Blinking, he accepted the waterskin when it was returned to him. It was the other’s turn to stare now, although his gaze was more calculating than appreciative. Lothar could feel a blush growing, hoping it was not too noticeable.

“You’re wounded.”

Lothar’s very intelligent answer was: “Huh?” which earned him an annoyed look from the kid, gone as soon as it appeared. It was true that Lothar was wounded; his body was wrapped in over ten red cloths, indicating injuries all over his arms and legs. He didn’t pay it much attention, as he was maybe actively seeking death to get out of this LARP as soon as possible. Though staring back at those gorgeous hazel eyes, he was willing to reconsider. He watched apprehensive as the kid searched into his bag, coming up with an impressive amount of objects. His eyes widened a bit at the sight of the thread and needle but the kid didn’t seem to pay it much attention, discarding it to the side immediately. Finally, he found what he was looking for, a bundle of white cloths. Lothar eyed it with interest. The boy moved so he was kneeling sideways from him, and started unwrapping the red cloths on his arm.

He was being very gentle, as if afraid he was going to hurt him. Lothar hesitated telling him those were not real wounds but decided against it. Let’s give him this, at least he’s good at staying in character, he thought. The kid was furrowing his brow as he concentrated on the task at hand, and there was the slightest bit of tongue coming out of his mouth. It was endearing, to say the least, and Lothar was ready to hit his head repeatedly on a tree. They had just met and he must have been twice his age, but there was something about him that drew Lothar in like a bug was drawn to a light. The kid picked up the white cloths and began wrapping Lothar’s arm again. In the middle of the process, Lothar noticed his lips moving slowly but he was talking so low he couldn’t hear anything. Lothar bent forward, straining to hear the words. Then he realized the boy was singing.

“What are you doing?” He blurted without thinking.

The singing stopped, much to his dismay. The kid sat backwards on his heels, pinning him with a glare. Lothar bit his lips, already blaming himself for ruining the moment. He was going to leave, he had offended him, how could he have been so stupid so as to speak up when he was beginning to sing…

“I’m healing you, you moron. Now shut up, I need to concentrate.”

Lothar gaped at him. With a satisfied smirk, the boy started working again, perhaps tying the cloth a little tighter than necessary. Lothar might be falling just a little bit in love. In his long years of LARPing, it was rare to find someone who didn’t know him, rarer even for those who did to make abstraction of that fact. He had gotten used to the fame, the way everyone treated him with a kind of respect. He had enjoyed it even, the first few years. Of course, it soon became old when new recruits would unmistakably stand up when he walked into a room, how the conversations would quiet down when he passed through the camp and how his peers seemed to wait for his orders to take a piss. So maybe it was a little more than just this LARP’s location, or the plotholes in the script, or the thirty newbies they had to deal with, that made Lothar ready to commit a fake suicide just to get out. Maybe he was just getting old.

So to have this kid, looking barely twenty, stand up to him and order him to shut up, well Lothar was as good as gone.

“I don’t know your name.”

This time, the kid hit him on the back of the head. Lothar chuckled, a hand coming up to rub the spot. There was a hint of a smile on the kid’s annoyed expression. Lothar allowed a fond look to take over his features as he let out a quiet “Ouch.”

The kid snickered.

“Oh, you think that’s funny do you?”

Making to catch him in a headlock, Lothar started laughing too as the kid escaped him, now outright cackling at him. Lothar sobered up suddenly as his attention was brought to the edge of the forest. Unaware, the kid was still trying to catch his breath and Lothar clamped a hand on his mouth, silencing him. He tried protesting, struggling against his hold but Lothar shushed him, his whole body on alert. The kid seemed to understand, as he stopped moving, straining to hear something. There was a crack. Someone was there in the forest. The boy’s eyes widened at the realization. Lothar shot him a warning glare and brought a finger to his lips, slowly removing his hand and getting up carefully. The panic was back in the kid’s eyes and Lothar was reluctant to leave him, but he knew it was their best shot. Making sure he wasn’t going to run off screaming, Lothar backed away quietly, disappearing into the wood.

***

He was alone. Lothar was gone. The forest seemed to still. Every creak of the branches seemed ominous, every flutter of leaves. His heartbeat was loud. He did not dare to move, afraid to give up his position. Panic blurred his vision and made his blood run too fast in his veins. There was no sound. Only silence surrounded him. No birds, no wind. The branches stopped cracking. He took a sharp breath.

There was a hand on his mouth, thumb under his jaw to keep him from biting, and a blade on his throat. He closed his eyes tightly, a single tear running down his cheek. One word ran through his mind like a litany, fake, fake, fake, it’s fake but he couldn’t help it. It felt too real.

“Drop the blade.”

His eyes shoot open and he is greeted by the sight of Lothar, in all his glory of LARP armor shining in the sun, great sword raised high at the person holding him. The hand released him slowly, each finger coming off carefully, the blade retracting with the same slowness. He collapsed to the ground, heaving and coughing, tears running free despite his attempt to keep them in. Lothar shot him a worried look, but kept his attention on their assailant. It was an Orc, dark skinned and dressed in a revealing leather outfit. She kept a defensive stance, hands raising above her head, eyeing the sword still pointed at her.

“Garona?”

With an exasperated groan, Lothar dropped the blade as the Orc, Garona as she was apparently called, adopted a sassy position, hand on hip and eyebrows drawn, staring at the kid still catching his breath on the ground.

“Really, Khad? Stay in character, damn it,” she said with a pointed look towards Lothar.

He turned his gaze to Lothar, who was silently fuming, considering murder and suicide again. Obviously reaching the conclusion that he did not want to mess with Lothar, he adopted a sheepish look before suddenly widening his eyes. Pointing a finger at Garona, who resumed her defensive stance, he exclaimed in an exaggerated voice.

“Orc! That’s an Orc!”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Lothar answered in a disinterested tone, leaning on his sword.

“Yes, I can see that.”

Then, straightening back up again, he turned towards Garona, who was giving him an apologetic look.

“And what is your name, Orc?” he asked for the sake of convention.

“And why would I tell you?” she sneered. Lothar only stared at her with an unamused look before she mumbled: “Garona.”

“I’m Commander Lothar. What about you, spellchucker?”

The kid’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets at the nickname, and he sent a withering look Lothar’s way.

“With all due respect, Commander, my name is Khadgar.”

Ignoring Garona’s snicker, Lothar kept on.

“Alright. Now, we can do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way. I am willing to let you go, Garona, if you’re willing to do the same, and hopefully we won’t be seeing each other again before the battle in five days. Or, I can kill you right now and get it over with. So which one is it going to be?”

Garona stayed silent for a bit, eyes on Khadgar who was standing up. He brushed his clothes, trying to discreetly brush the tears away. Suddenly realizing they were both staring at him, a blush took over his cheeks as he straightened, shuffling on his feet. Lothar couldn’t help a small smile from forming on his lips, and didn’t notice Garona eyeing him suspiciously.

“Actually, Commander,” she started, and Lothar regretted giving them his title, “I have another offer for you.”

Now, that was interesting, Lothar thought. The Orc was in no position for bargain, which made it all the more clear to Lothar that he would be very pleased with the offer. Gesturing for her to keep going, she cast a quick glance around before speaking up.

“I don’t agree with our leader, Gul’dan. He is full of himself and treats us like slaves, expecting us to do as he pleases without complain. For most Orcs, that doesn’t bother them but what he wants us to do, well. Let’s say there is no chance you Humans will win the final battle. Gul’dan has a plan, and it’s not a nice one.”

“Why are you telling us this?” interrupted Khadgar.

“Because I don’t want Gul’dan to win. I want to help you.”

Lothar’s eyes widened. That was unconventional. For a member to team up with the opposite group was unthinkable, even if there were no official rules about it. It was like common knowledge. “It’s treason.”

“I know. I don’t care. What Gul’dan intends to do isn’t exactly fair play either and I won’t let him.”

“And you’re the only one willing to go against him?” asked Khadgar, eyebrows drawn, looking deep in thoughts.

“Not exactly. Others disagree with him but nobody is willing to take a stand.”

Lothar stayed silent as he considered the offer. Garona seemed honest but it could also be a trap, a plan for the Orcs to get inside information on the Humans’ battle strategy. He was hesitant to trust this Orc. Both Garona and Khadgar were looking at him expectantly. Khadgar seemed to trust her, but that could be because he knew her outside of the LARP. Lothar was always cautious with personal connections. The point of a LARP was to be someone else for a while. 

Before anything else, however, they should get out of this forest. The day was almost over and they should head back to the camp before nightfall. They were too close to Orc territory for him to feel safe camping here. Lothar did not know what to do with Garona. Send her back to her camp? She’d refuse. Bringing her to the Human camp was not a pleasing thought, but Lothar couldn’t see a way around it.

“Fine. You come with us. That does not mean I trust you yet.”

Lothar sheathed his sword, propping it to his back. Then, he extended a hand towards the Orc with a pointed look. With a sigh, she handed over her dagger, but he did not move. A few seconds of awkward silence passed before Garona revealed a small knife hidden inside her belt. He then grabbed Garona’s arm and started walking, Khadgar following behind.

“We have to get out of this forest, it’s in contested territory and I do not intend to be ambushed while sleeping.”

“Wait what?” asked Khadgar incredulous.

Lothar chuckled. “It’s getting dark already. Camp’s too far to reach before night. We’re gonna have to camp out here.”

To say Khadgar didn’t look pleased with this plan would be an understatement. Garona looked completely disinterested at his side, bored even.

“Ever been camping, kid?” sneered Lothar.

“In the middle of a morass with no equipment whatsoever? No, I have not.”

Lothar glanced at Khadgar, who scowled and raised his chin dismissively. Garona sported a slight grin, eyes looking to the distance but obviously listening in to their exchange. Lothar scoffed, amazed at these kids’ confidence even as the day was definitely coming to an end and the woods were getting dark.

“Well, first time for everything.”

At the words, Khadgar’s head turned abruptly towards him and he glared at him. In two long strides, Lothar brought himself ahead of their little party, ending the conversation. They walked for another twenty minutes in silence before reaching the edge of the forest where Lothar stopped them.

“No enemy patrol would have wandered this far. We’ll camp here.”

“It’s damp.”

“Suck it up, kid.”

Khadgar’s eyes were stormy as he watched Lothar walking back in the forest, pacing the same two meters for a few seconds before bending down and picking up something. He exchanged a look with Garona, who gestured, as confused as he was but unwilling to figure things out. She hadn’t said a word since they had set off, and Khadgar rolled his eyes at her, to which she answered by sticking her tongue. Then, more out of spite than anything else, she laid down on the damp forest floor, pretending sleep. Khadgar stayed upright for a few seconds before he heard Lothar come up behind him. He turned to face him and noticed he was carrying some twigs and branches.

“You know how to make a fire?” he questioned, genuinely surprised.

“Kid, I’ve been doing this for more than ten years. The real question here is, do you?”

Lothar flopped down to the ground, cross legged, the pile of wood in front of him. Khadgar hesitated for a second before sitting next to him, Garona lying motionless two meters across them, back turned. Lothar reached into his bag, grabbing a steel rock and a piece of cloth. Khadgar looked on, dubious this would really work. Then, Lothar took out a knife from one of his pockets.

“Wait. That’s a real knife.”

Lothar raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“That’s authorized?”

Lothar awkwardly looked to the side, uneasy. “… yes?”

“But it’s sharp!” he let out.

“Kid. Khadgar. We’re going to stay five days here basically cut out from the modern world. That’s the point. You really think they were gonna let us here with no sharp objects? I’m not going to fight with it,” he said matter-of-factly. “Did you really think they were gonna forbid all and any sharp objects on the ground?”

Khadgar kept silence for a few seconds. “Well. Yeah.”

Lothar chuckled lightly, aware of the sleeping form of Garona just two meters away. In a swift movement, Lothar swiped the back of the knife against the cloth, igniting it against the steel rock. Then, he blew gently on the sparks before dropping it on the kindle. Bowing down with his hands on his knees, he kept blowing until the fire started. The sun was barely visible anymore, disappearing quickly below the horizon and the temperature dropping with it. Casting a concerned glance towards Garona, Lothar spoke in a low voice.

“We should take shifts. Sleep, kid. I’ll wake you up in four hours.”

Khadgar nodded, the sudden darkness enveloping him and making him realize how tired the day had left him. He unhooked his cloak and laid it down on the ground as a make shift sleeping bag. He lied down on it, the ground cold and hard under him and he knew he would have trouble falling asleep. Lothar did not seem to pay any attention to him, gazing into the fire. His face was lit in the darkness and Khadgar took the opportunity to admire his features. He did not have time to earlier in the day when they properly met, even if “properly” might not be the appropriate word. He had been so panicked when Lothar had found him that it had taken him a long time before actually processing that he was Anduin Lothar, Commander of Stormwind Army and best roleplayer of his time. When it had hit him, it was already too late to acknowledge that fact. He didn’t hold any hope that Lothar thought Khadgar did not know him before. Everyone in the larping community knew him. .

Now, in the low light of the campfire, Khadgar could see that the photos did not do the man justice. He was truly beautiful, in a more than handsome way. He had a face one could easily compare to a Greek statue and still be far off from the level of perfection it held. Khadgar could not bask in his admiration for much longer however, as sleep overtook him suddenly.

Five hours later, when Lothar woke him up, he felt like he just had the best night of sleep of his life. They spoke no words, Lothar only indicating that everything had gone okay and that he was going to sleep with a hand gesture. It was pitch black, but the fire had obviously just been renewed, and Khadgar guessed it would last until dawn. After ten minutes of nothing, sitting in the dark and listening to the other two sleeping, exhaustion made itself known to Khadgar who made no effort to hide his yawn, being the only one awake. He settled into a crouch, arms around his knees, and wrapped his cloak around his shoulders to guard him against the cold.


	2. Chapter 2

There was something to be said about those sleepless nights where you should be sleeping but don’t, Khadgar was thinking, but they were nothing compared to nights where you had to fight to stay awake. It was the first time someone had asked him to stand guard while the others slept and he suddenly realized why the human, as a species, had evolved to free itself from any outside menace during nighttime. 

During the four hours where he was left to his own thoughts, he had had time to question many, many things, mainly the actual point of keeping guard while Garona slept when that would just result in the two of them sleep deprived and their prisoner well rested. He had done everything he could to stay awake, reciting all of Hamlet, enumerating all the rules of the Black Morass, creating an entire story in his head revolving around a mentally ill imp in a magical world, but he had ended up dozing off towards the end. He had jerked awake to see the sky slowly turning from black to blue, with just a few clouds. It wasn’t often he could gaze at the dawning sun and it did, somehow, appease his irritation towards Lothar.

He heard some shuffling and he looked down to see both Garona and Lothar waking up. Once again, it was obvious who was an experienced larper out of the three of them. Lothar was up in a matter of seconds, brushing down his clothes and wrapping his blanket back up again, attaching it to the heavy bag he carried around. Garona stood up slowly, groaning as every muscle in her body complained. She then stared quizzically at Khadgar, who wore deep blue marks under his eyes, still crouched down wrapped in his coat. She snapped out of it when Lothar offered her some beef jerky. 

As Khadgar made no movement to get up, Lothar decided to take action and kicked him. He yelped and ended up sprawled on the floor, supporting his weight on one arm. He made a scandalous expression just to show Lothar how uncivilized that was. The commander just chuckled.

They then set out for the trek back to camp. Lothar was mumbling under his breath, something about morasses and dumb leaders and honestly, Khadgar would rather not know. He wondered how people would react to them arriving in the Human camp, very much alive despite not having come back the night before, and with an Orc. This didn’t seem like the best combo for a happy welcome. He had to trust Lothar’s fame and connection to the King for them to be able to plead Garona’s case.

Khadgar had to admit he did not trust Garona. He had refrained from wording his doubts because he was curious but he had not ruled out the possibility of her being a spy. It was not because he knew her outside the LARP that his opinion of her was reason enough to believe her now. Actually, that was all the more reason for him not to trust her. He had no idea she was participating in this LARP. They knew each other for a little over a year, having met at college. They had not really talked outside of work related things. He appreciated her even though she tended to be a bit too raw about her opinions and had a habit of messing with people for fun. He gave her the benefit of the doubt but he still kept in mind the very real possibility of it being a trap.

The second reservation he had about her was that she had not actually said anything to them. Apart from the fact Gul’dan had a plan, they knew nothing. Lothar’s decision to bring her to the Human camp was entirely out of the fact they were helpless in the middle of the forest. Of course the dialogue would be easier in the leader’s tent but they had given out their trust to her a bit too quickly for Khadgar’s taste. And he did not doubt for one second that anyone at the camp would feel different.

They reached the camp well into morning. There weren’t a lot of people left, most of them having gone on patrols. Still they gathered a lot of curious gazes as they strode through the tents. It was obvious they were wondering what was happening. Bringing an Orc to the Human camp was madness, what was the Commander thinking? Khadgar was trying to make himself the smallest possible to not attract any attention. Lothar pushed through the crowd with a determined scowl. 

Khadgar was ready to follow him to the leader’s tent when he heard a voice talking with great enthusiasm. With surprise, he recognized it as Donavon’s voice, the only member of his party who he did not know whether he had met the same terrible fate as the others. He stopped Lothar with a hand on his arm, indicating with a head tilt where he was going. Lothar followed, confused, dragging Garona behind him. Donavon was sitting in front of a tent. He was with six other soldiers, intently listening to him with impressed looks on their faces.

“We were surrounded. The other members of my party, not used to fighting as I am, were struggling against the Orcs. I took down three Orcs on my own, as I watched our cook die under the enemy’s blade.”

Khadgar was shaking. At his side, Lothar watched with a worried look. Donavon kept on, not having noticed them standing on the side.

“Her death enraged me. With renewed vigor, I jumped on the remaining Orcs, saving one of my companions’ life. But I could not save her from another blow, and she fell. By the time I had killed all the Orcs, everyone was dead. They fought well, but they were overwhelmed by the Orcs, unlike me.”

There was an impressed murmur.

“Our healer, all he had was a dagger. An Orc drove his sword through his chest.”

Unable to take it anymore, Khadgar took a step forward, revealing his presence to the group. All gazes were drawn to him when he spit out a sharp “Hey.” Lothar’s hand shot up to grip his arm, trying to keep him back.

“Come on, kid, you do not want to do this.”

He had noticed Donavon gauging Khadgar before settling into a self-satisfied smirk. Khadgar ignored him.

“That is not what happened.”

There was a chuckle amongst the group.

“And how do you know that?”

Khadgar’s eyes burnt bright with anger. His lips were drawn in a sneer, his expression distasteful when he spoke up.

“Because I was your healer.”

Donavon visibly paled, momentarily losing his composure as the others around started whispering. He regained quickly, however, putting up a confident front once more.

“Nonsense. I just told you, he’s dead.”

Khadgar let out a disbelieving chuckle.

“Our cook willingly gave up her life so I could survive, as she faced the last two Orc standing because she had already killed one of them herself. The other two of our party had died, but not before taking down an Orc, while you, Donavon, are a coward who ran at first sight of an enemy, leaving us to fend for ourselves. We were outnumbered four to five and you abandoned the party because you were too scared to fight.”

There was a long silence. Donavon struggled to find something to retort. Khadgar held his gaze with a disgusted sneer. Their conversation had drawn the camp’s attention and everyone waited to see what would happen now. Khadgar’s words seemed to take effect on the group of listeners. There were disapproving murmurs, and they finally turned away from Donavon. He was left standing alone, mouth agape, looking lost. 

Lothar couldn’t help the pitying glance he shot at the young soldier. It was a harsh lesson learned, but it was one worth receiving.

“Come on, Khadgar. We need to report to the King.”

With one last dirty glance towards Donavon, Khadgar turned away and followed.

***

The leader’s tent was at the very center of the camp, recognizable by how much bigger it was to the others. He entered behind Lothar. He came to a stop, glancing behind him, wondering whether he had the right to come in. He considered walking back out before anyone could call him out but his train of thought was lost when he noticed who was in the room. 

In the center of the tent was a huge strategy table that took up most of the space. Around it, eyes trained on Khadgar and Garona motionless at the entrance, were four figures. Lothar immediately stepped forward and engulfed King Llane in a heartfelt embrace. Next to them was a petite brown haired woman who held herself with all the grace one should expect of her: Lady Taria. She laid a hand on Lothar’s arm, smiling. Opposite them at the table, watching with learnt disinterest, was Moroes, one of the ground’s Game Masters. Khadgar was surprised at his presence. He wondered if they had perhaps interrupted an important conversation. His gaze was then drawn to the back of the tent, where another figure stood in the dark. That is when he saw it.

It was a long staff, entirely carved. Even from a distance, he could already tell of its beauty. The wood seemed to have been polished, glistening in the low light of the few candles. Khadgar stared in awe. The head of the staff in particular fascinated him. It was an intricate carving of a raven, beautifully realized. This staff was called Atiesh and it was one of the most beautiful things Khadgar had ever laid eyes upon. He knew it had been hand-made, its creator trained by a professional carver especially in the prospect of crafting this staff. Khadgar’s eyes snapped to the holder of the staff, who was looking at him with an amused smirk. Khadgar could feel his cheek burning.

Medivh nodded at him in greetings. He was one of the founder of the Stormwind’s Army, along with Llane and Lothar. Khadgar had spent hours looking up everything he could when he first heard of them. Medivh, known as the Guardian, specializing in mage and spell caster roles, had quickly become Khadgar’s idol. To be here in the same room as him was a great honor. Khadgar swallowed hard, nervousness bubbling in his throat, and gave a curt nod of his own.

“Lothar, thank the light, you’re alive,” said Llane, parting from his friend. His gaze then fell on Garona and Khadgar. “What is going on?”

“We’ll take care of it, Anduin,” said Taria. “You need to go to the Healer’s tent. Callan was hurt.” 

Lothar’s face fell with concern and he did not hesitate, immediately turning and leaving the tent. Everyone watched him go. Khadgar wondered who Callan was but he hoped he was alright. An injury serious enough to send you to the Healer’s tent was worrying. 

Garona shifted, rubbing her arm, obviously uncomfortable. Khadgar realized the situation they were now in. They had lost the security of Lothar’s testimony. Taria seemed nice but she could no doubt become ruthless and Llane was looking at them with suspicion.

“I do not know what Lothar was thinking by bringing you here but I should hope he did think about it. Both of you.” Llane’s gaze fixed itself on Khadgar, who started. “Now, who are you, Orc and why shouldn’t I kill you right now?”

The threat was obvious and Garona swallowed past the lump in her throat. She could feel Khadgar’s presence behind her, and although he was radiating nervousness, it did soothe her to think he was as anxious as her.

“My name is Garona,” she started. “I have come to warn you because I need your help and you need mine. Gul’dan, the Orcs’ leader, I know what he is planning and, well, let’s say there is no chance you Humans will ever be able to win this war. We need to stop him.”

There was an assessing silence. Llane and Taria held a silent exchange. Eventually, Taria nodded and Llane turned back towards them.

“Assuming we trust you, what exactly is he planning?”

“An army of the dead.”

There was a beat. Every gaze turned towards her. She struggled not to fidget under the attention.

“He says there is a spell that can prevent people from dying. That even dead, we can keep on fighting. I don’t know how he figured that out, but I know Gul’dan would not base his entire battle strategy around a plan he wasn’t a hundred percent sure of.”

“But that’s impossible, that’s against the-” Llane cut himself off, huffing in frustration.

“It’s really not.” It was Moroes who talked. He looked deep in thought, stroking his chin. “There are no rules against it.”

“No rules against cheating death?”

“Not if the lore of the ground allows it, no.”

“Magic is unpredictable like that,” offered Medivh.

This was the major issue everyone had about the ground: the use of magic. Each player had been given a list of some spells to learn, both to use and know how to react to them. Everyone could cast a spell and none could kill in an instant. But magic was hard to grasp and most players preferred not to use it, leaving it to more experienced players who specialized in spellwork, like Medivh. Khadgar had rather looked forward to trying it out, although he had not found the confidence to do so yet.

Moroes seemed conflicted. He clearly did not expect a player to take advantage of the script in such a way. Changes would certainly be made for the next LARP session but Khadgar was interested to see how this first one would play out.

“Gul’dan has to be stopped,” said Garona. “That is why I have come to you, Humans. There is no honor in fighting if you cannot die.”

“You wouldn’t have come to us if you were alone, though. Someone else is willing to stand against Gul’dan, is that right?” asked Taria.

All gazes focused on the Orc. Khadgar could see she quite enjoyed the attention she was getting. She took a calming breath before answering.

“Yes. When I learned about Gul’dan’s plan, the first thing I did was go to Durotan. He is much more of a leader than Gul’dan. People trust him. It was his idea to warn you. He agrees that we need to stop this plan from happening but we cannot do it alone. Not many are ready to defy their leader.”

“But Durotan is?” interrupted Llane.

“He’s asking for a meeting.”

There was a shocked silence. Garona visibly swallowed past her nervousness.

“He will be at the pass north of the ground, tomorrow when the sun is highest.”

Llane remained silent, thinking. 

“We will go.”

Everyone’s head snapped up in surprise. Llane ignored it and kept on.

“We have to take out Gul’dan before the fifth day and the only way to do that is if we get help from the Orcs. We will need to send a group. I will go as well.”

Everyone gaped at the King, taken aback. 

“Is it really the wisest decision to send your leader to what could very well be a trap?” ventured the GM.

Even Taria was too appalled to react. The Game Master looked concerned about this turn of events. Garona seemed the most surprised. She clearly did not expect that. Khadgar had to admit he was shocked by such boldness from the King. 

“If this is not a trap, and I am most certainly convinced it is not one,” Llane answered, “Durotan would expect the leader of the Humans to come. It is to show my trust that I accept to meet with him.”

“But what if it is a trap?” Khadgar asked, immediately biting his lower lip.

His eyes widened as all gazes were drawn to him. The question escaped him out of curiosity. He did not think about the disrespect that surely showed, but it was too late now to take it back. The others had turned their attention to Llane, waiting for his answer.

“If that is the case and I should find an untimely demise tomorrow, I believe Taria to be as good a leader as me, if not better. She will take my place as the Queen of Stormwind and lead us to victory.”

He said those last words looking straight into his wife’s eyes. She smiled, trusting and loving. Khadgar felt awkward standing there but he could feel his lips stretch into a smile at the sight. Moroes ended the sweet moment between the King and Queen by clearing his throat.

“Well, I should be going. I have a feeling tomorrow will be an interesting day.”

They all bid good bye the Game Master. Khadgar and Garona were about to leave also when Medivh stopped them right in front of the tent.

“We might have believed you, Orc, but you are still our prisoner. We cannot let you roam our camp freely. You will have to wait in the barracks before we head out tomorrow.”

Garona accepted her fate, head hanging low. Khadgar would have protested but he figured they overstepped their boundaries one too many times today. He watched as Garona was led by a Stormwind soldier unknown to him to the back of the camp where the barracks stood. Then, Medivh turned towards him.

“So who might you be?”

“Uh,” he winced. “My name is Khadgar.”

He waited awkwardly for Medivh to either talk or dismiss him, shifting from one foot to another. He wouldn’t meet Medivh’s gaze.

“I figure there is an interesting story to hear about how you ended up alongside Lothar and a renegade Orc. I would love to hear it. You seem to be interested in some of what I could tell you.”

Medivh wore a knowing smile and Khadgar gaped at him. He knew he had been noticed when admiring Atiesh, which the Guardian had left inside. Khadgar wordlessly nodded.

“Well, I will see you around, Khadgar. You might want to check up on Lothar at the Healer’s tent. I noticed he limped when he arrived.”

Khadgar’s head swiveled in the direction of the Healer’s quarters. He only needed a small nod from Medivh before he took off towards it in long strides. 

The Healer’s quarters were a large tent a bit outside of the camp. Two nurses had been hired to tend to any real life injuries that may occur to the players. Upon entering the room, Khadgar saw eight beds, one of which occupied by a sleeping person. Near the back of the room was a young man, who he assumed to be Callan, standing next to a bed, and while he seemed perfectly fine, a nurse was tending to Anduin Lothar. He had rolled up one leg of his pants and removed his chest piece. It lay on the floor next to him along with his sword. Callan was the first to notice Khadgar and a bright smile took over his features.

“Khadgar!”

Lothar’s head snapped up as he let out a confused “Khadgar?”

“Well, yeah. It is Khadgar, right?”

That last question was directed at Khadgar himself, still standing at the door. Lothar followed his gaze, head swiveling. The younger man let out a quiet “Hi.” He wondered how Callan, who he still ignored exactly who he was, knew his name. The nurse stood up from where she had been tending to Lothar’s leg, giving it a small pat.

“You’re good to go.”

Lothar thanked her as he rolled down his pants. Khadgar stopped a few steps away from the two men.

“So, what happened to you?” he asked the oldest Lothar.

“Orcs,” he grunted as he stood up, testing his leg. “One of them got me behind the knee. It hurt like hell.”

“When did that happen?”

“Few hours before I found you,” came the distracted answer as Lothar tried walking around the room.

“And you were already jumping into battle?”

Khadgar was incredulous. Lothar came to a stop, focusing on the young man. He looked at him for long seconds before answering him in a sarcastic tone of voice.

“Don’t thank me for saving your ass, you know. Would you have preferred I let them keep hurting you?”

Lothar glared at Khadgar, who stood silent. He met his gaze head on, eyes hard. Despite his annoyance at the man, Khadgar could not help but notice how handsome he looked now he could see him in broad daylight and not panicked. Flustered, Khadgar looked away, turning towards Callan instead. The tension broke at once. Callan was glancing between the two of them, obviously uncomfortable.

“I don’t seem to need to introduce myself,” Khadgar said to him, extending a hand.

Callan started before shaking his hand. “Oh. Right, sorry. I’m Callan, Anduin’s son.”

Khadgar’s eyes widened. “Son…?” He seemed to shake himself. “Nice to meet you. What happened?” he asked, genuinely concerned.

“I got hit in the head. I’m fine now,” he scoffed. “It happened ridiculously early and I slept all day.”

Khadgar gave him a disbelieving look, muttering an exasperated “Lothars” under his breath.

“What are you doing here, kid?” suddenly asked Lothar.

Khadgar stayed silent for a couple of awkward seconds. “Just. Checking up on you. Medivh noticed you were limping.”

“Of course he did,” sighed Lothar. “Well.” He ruffled Callan’s hair, who dunked to avoid his hand, shooting him a mock glare. “See you later, son.” 

Khadgar stared wordlessly at them. Seemingly unaware, Lothar picked up his sword and chest armor, not bothering to put it properly. He was half out of the door when he turned around, giving Khadgar a questioning look.

“Well, are you coming?”

Khadgar scrambled behind him, eyes wide with surprise. He glanced back at Callan before leaving the room. Callan gestured for him to go, a small smile on his lips. He shook his head fondly as he watched the two leaving. They were well fitted, he couldn’t help but think.

***

As soon as Khadgar and Lothar stepped into the camp again, Lothar was called to the leader’s tent. Khadgar was left alone. He did not know anyone and walked around trying to find something to do for a while. The camp was busying itself with all sorts of activity. Everyone seemed to have received orders and no one was in need of help. Khadgar wandered aimlessly until the bell was rung, signaling lunch time. 

At camp, everyone present ate together, however the leaders did not show up. There were some talks amongst the soldiers about the morning’s events. Even for those that had not assisted to their arrival, the news of an Orc prisoner and Commander Lothar’s return had reached all of them in a couple of hours. Some were questioning the validity of keeping an Orc in the barracks, others wondered what the strategy was and what was being discussed. None of them seemed to recognize Khadgar and no one tried to talk to him.

Having finished eating, he was about to leave to try to visit Garona when he was hailed by a Stormwind soldier. He looked in his forties and he was followed by two players looking awkward at his side. They weren’t Stormwind, and Khadgar wondered if he had been called for his own absence of a blue tabard. He approached them curiously.

“You arrived this morning with commander Lothar, is that right?” asked the one that had hailed him. “I’m Karos, I am an instructor for Stormwind’s Army. Do you want to train with us?”

Despite feeling sore from the previous night, Khadgar thought it could be a good experience and agreed. 

They were all handed swords and told none of them could actually hurt them. There would be no injuries during training. They each faced an opponent while listening to Karos. He told them to relax as much as they could. He corrected a few of their stances, adjusting the sword in their hands. He advised them to always look at your opponent in the eyes and never let them out of your sight. Khadgar wondered how relevant such an advice was in an actual fight. He doubted he would be able to think clearly enough in real combat to remember all of Karos’ advices. The previous day when he had faced the Orcs, Khadgar had acted mostly on instinct, having learned basic combat skills in a self-defense class at college. 

When Karos indicated the start of the fight, Khadgar and his opponent, a middle-aged woman whose name was Alleria, rotated around each other without finding an opportunity. They didn’t break eye contact and many times one of them attempted a blow but was thwarted. Suddenly, Alleria plunged forward and Khadgar found himself sprawled on the ground, disarmed.

He blinked before bursting out laughing. He had not seen her coming at all. He was amazed at her swiftness. She stood above him with a satisfied smirk. Karos came to them, congratulating her before handing his weapon back to Khadgar, ordering him to get up and brace himself for another round. 

Their training session went on for almost two hours. By the end of it, Khadgar had managed to win two of the six fights against Alleria before they switched partners. Khadgar’s every muscle throbbed and he was in desperate need of a drink. They all bowed to each other. A new complicity was born between them afterwards when they parted ways with slaps on the back, laughing when they winced. They were all spent and Karos pointed them in the direction of the water supply. 

Khadgar was satisfied with how the afternoon had started. He had forgotten during training all about Gul’dan and evil plans but it all came back to him when he saw Lothar and Medivh exiting the leader’s tent. He wondered whether he could join them but they looked deep in conversation. Lothar looked troubled and Khadgar watched on with concern.

When he saw them saying goodbye, he started walking towards them, intending to stop Lothar. But he was not fast enough and he could only watch him make his way towards the barracks before he could reach them. Medivh noticed him approaching and waited for him.

“Perhaps you wanted to speak with Lothar?”

“That was the idea, yeah,” he answered. He knew he sounded more annoyed than he really was. After all, Lothar was a busy man, being the commander and everything.

“I’m afraid he has important matters to attend.”

Khadgar looked at Medivh with an assessing gaze. He wondered whether his way of talking was part of the role or if he talked like this all the time. In any case, it was quite off putting.

“He’s going to visit Garona,” remarked Khadgar.

“She has informations relevant to the unfolding of the war.”

“Right.”

He wondered what questions Lothar had to ask to Garona even after she had explained Gul’dan’s plan.

“Would you want to join me?” asked Medivh. “I was about to go for a walk.”

Khadgar figured he might as well indulge Medivh. Furthermore, he could profit from talking with the mage who he admired very much. With one last glance towards the barracks, he accepted Medivh’s lead out of the camp and towards the forest to the South. The wood here was less dense than at the center of the ground where he found himself lost yesterday. The shade from the trees was a welcome respite from the camp’s open air location. Khadgar had no doubt he would end up sunburnt before the end of the week, especially if he participated in any more of those training sessions. 

As if reading his thoughts, Medivh told him: “I believe you’ve met Karos.”

“Yes,” Khadgar answered, not bothering to hide his surprise.

The mage chuckled. “He asks it of all strangers to the army, if they want to train with him. He is the official instructor for the soldiers. He likes it and prefers a well-organized fight than to see a horde of barbarians rushing into battle waving around swords and lances.”

“Like the ones we’re facing, you mean?” laughed Khadgar.

“You’ve encountered some of them yesterday?”

“Yes.” Khadgar’s face turned grim. “I was the sole survivor of my party. They gave up their life so I could survive, actually.”

Medivh only nodded sympathetically. They walked in silence for a few minutes and Khadgar took the opportunity to observe the older man. He noticed with disappointment that he had not taken Atiesh. The coat he was wearing was impressive, sewed of what must have been a hundred black feathers. They looked real and glistened under the sunlight. He wore a long robe underneath of a light beige material that Khadgar guessed was linen. His costume was designed for long wears in the summer, he could see. 

It was all items he had the chance of seeing on their website already. It was one of the few personalized costumes in the Stormwind’s Army, although Khadgar had heard that each soldier had a slightly different armor that suited their taste and inclination. Llane and Lothar had personalized armor, heavier with more personal features, like Llane’s golden lion spaulders. Queen Taria had also designed her own robes. The King and Queen were well known for having matching hand-crafted crowns.

Next to Medivh, Khadgar couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about his own woolen cloak and simple cotton shirt. He had struggled to find the right materials and patterns. He had been proud enough of the end result but it was nothing next to the Stormwind’s Army costumes. His pants and cloak were also full of dust and dirt from the last two days while Medivh’s robe looked pristine.

They reached a small opening in the woods, almost perfectly round. Khadgar walked around it before noticing Medivh had come to a stop. He was observing the young man. Khadgar did his best not to look uncomfortable despite feeling it. Eventually, Medivh spoke.

“Are you interested in magic, Khadgar?”

As much as the question was unexpected, Khadgar did not hesitate to answer positively.

“Would you like to practice some spells?”

He could feel his eyes widening. He nodded a few times excitedly before divesting himself of his cloak. Medivh looked at the younger man warmly. When he had burst into the tent this morning, following Lothar and dragging an Orc behind him, he had not known what to expect. Now, he was curious who this boy really was and who he could be.

After making sure he knew each of the standard spells, Medivh decided to test him. Without warning, he gestured at him while reciting: “Rhui salher!”

There were two seconds of confusion where Khadgar did not move at all before propelling himself backwards with enough force to hit a tree trunk. Medivh feared he had hurt himself at first. He needed not worry, however, as he was already riposting with a spell of his own.

“Shala’ros!”

Medivh reacted in time, speaking calmly and loud enough for Khadgar to hear. “Ullaman takan.” His shield protected him from the magic strike Khadgar had aimed at him. 

They remained unmoving for a few seconds, catching their breath. Khadgar realized that a magic battle was as costing as one with weapons. He wondered if his stamina would last for much longer.

“Quick reflexes. They are fundamental. Waste one second and you are immobilized and at your enemy’s mercy.”

Medivh did not hide that he felt proud about this first session. He was about to continue the lesson but he could see Khadgar was in need of rest.

“I think this is enough for today. We should get back to the camp. Lothar should be available now,” he added with a wink.

He did not miss how Khadgar’s cheeks heated up in an instant.

***

Night had fallen on the Humans camp. Bonfires had been lit and the soldiers had gathered around each one in small groups. There were sounds of laughs and talks while they ate. Taria made her way across camp, stopping a few times to chat with soldiers that she knew and others she was coming to know after two days on the ground. She wore a heavy cloak to protect herself from the cold that plagued the land at night. In her hands, she carried a warm blanket. She walked swiftly away from camp in the direction of the barracks.

There was a single soldier guarding the door. He let her pass without a word. The barracks were a simple hut that protected from the rain but not much else. It was not built to be comfortable nor to actually welcome any prisoners. The barracks were much more of a detail in most games and rarely used in the actual case there were prisoners. The door closed but could not be locked. There was a narrow wooden bed in a corner and a bucket on the other side. 

When she entered, Garona was lying on the board but she was up as soon as the door opened. Taria let it close behind her. She offered a smile to the Orc. She stayed stone-faced, eyeing her suspiciously.

“I brought you a blanket. Nights can be cold around here.”

She handed her the garment that was accepted with a whispered thanks. Garona immediately wrapped herself in it, sitting with her legs against her chest on the bed, gesturing for Taria to join her.

“Have you had anything to eat?” the Queen asked her.

“Lothar brought me some bread a few hours ago.”

Taria smiled before getting some beef jerky and a loaf of bread from her satchel. Garona attempted to refuse but had to admit she was hungry and she accepted the offered food. They ate in silence at first, the sounds from the camps reaching them faintly.

“Thank you,” eventually said Garona.

“I have no reason to distrust you.”

“Even though I’m an Orc? I’d say that’s enough reason to kill me right now.”

Taria chuckled. “Orcs are known for their loyalty.” This detail was in the ground’s synopsis, each faction had been described in order for players to choose their side. “You would not betray your people. Even the most evil plans would not joke with that. But Gul’dan is not a real Orc, all he wants is the fame and victory. He wants the prize for getting to beat us. I have no reason to not believe you.”

“You know him?”

“Indeed. This is not the first time Stormwind has found itself against Gul’dan. It does not take much for me to believe he is already planning to bring our downfall.”

Garona was looking at her with surprise, mouth agape. “You mean this is specifically against you?”

Taria sighed. “Gul’dan and we have a, uh… complicated history. Back when we were a small group, some ten years ago, we found ourselves alongside Gul’dan. We were supposed to be on the same side but Gul’dan wasn’t having it. He sabotaged our strategy and things only escalated from here. It resulted in Gul’dan getting banned from the LARPing community altogether. Our group, Stormwind, almost couldn’t survive this game. That was so long ago. I thought that was the last we would ever hear of Gul’dan ever again.”

“Why did you still come to this game then? Even knowing Gul’dan was on the Orcs side?”

“This is his revenge, Garona. He specifically chose the Orcs side so he could be against us. This plan? The army of the dead? It is so he is sure to win against us. Ten years have passed and yet he stays the same: a disloyal, crooked, unscrupulous… bastard!”

The last word escaped Taria’s mouth with wrath. Garona had not expected the Queen of Stormwind to open up to her in this way. In any case, she had to agree on Taria’s assessment of Gul’dan’s personality.

“That sounds about right,” she said, distasteful.

“That is why Llane trusts you, Garona. Gul’dan is not above bending the rules to feat his own wickedness.”

A few seconds passed in silence, as Garona absorbed these new informations. It only comforted her in her opinion of the man. She thought of Durotan and Draka, his wife, who had stayed behind at the Orcs’ camp. They did not know what had happened to her, whether she had managed to convince the Humans or had been killed as soon as she reached their camp. It was only by luck she had found Khadgar in the forest, not recognizing him until he spoke. She had been lucky also that Lothar had been in a merciful mood. It would have only taken one blow and Durotan’s plan was wasted. To stop Gul’dan, it all relied on the Humans’ involvement. Without it, Gul’dan would win.

Taria stood up, leaving the rest of the bread on the bench. “Sleep, Garona. Llane wants you here tomorrow at the pass.”

Garona’s head snapped up, staring disbelieving at Taria. The Queen smiled sweetly at her, leaving the room with a small pat on her shoulder. 

The whole camp had quieted down. Garona’s cheeks were hurting from the wide smile that had taken up her face as soon as the door had closed behind the Queen’s cloaked figure. The excitement making place to exhaustions, she lied on the wooden plank that made up her bed and fell asleep in seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and reviews are greatly appreciated =)


	3. Chapter 3

Khadgar woke up before dawn. Sitting at the edge of the camp, facing east where the Orcs’ camp laid, he watched as the sun rose slowly. The weather seemed to be rainy. Dark clouds gathered overhead and the air was already starting to dampen. Still wrapped in his cloak, Khadgar shivered as the wind blew.

The Human camp was slightly higher than the rest of the ground. From here, he could see far into the ground. To his right was the forest that took up most of the south. It continued well outside the ground’s limits. Right ahead was a large plain with hardly any vegetation except for weeds. The closer you went to the East side the muddier the earth was. Khadgar expected the ground to become quite soggy and slippery if the rain started.

Khadgar turned his gaze to the pass where they would meet the Orcs. The cliffs started abruptly to the north. They created a striking contrast to the rather plane aspect of the rest of the ground. It was over there the clouds seemed the most menacing. It looked strangely ominous.

If he turned around, Khadgar could have spotted the small woods where he trained with Medivh yesterday. But his gaze remained on the higher plateau to the north-east. The land seemed to rise suddenly before continuing on its previous course. Khadgar wondered if the pass led to this plateau.

Behind him, the camp was slowly awakening, sounds of conversation and activity reaching him. The sun was shining brightly in the clear portion of the sky, casting yellow and red lights on the dark clouds.

Someone sat down beside him. Khadgar turned his head to see Lothar smiling at him.

“Nervous about today?” the Commander asked him.

Khadgar shook his head slowly. “Not really. I just really hope this won’t be a trap and every one of you will come back alive.”

Lothar watched him in silence for a few minutes. Khadgar stubbornly kept facing the land, Lothar remaining an unfocused blur in the corner of his eye.

“You know you’re coming with us, right?” Lothar suddenly said.

Khadgar’s entire face morphed in surprise, eyebrows rising and mouth falling open.

“Are you serious?” he exclaimed.

Lothar’s mouth was stretched in a quizzical smile. “No one told you. It was decided in yesterday’s meetings. Garona and you will accompany us to the pass. You’ve already been witness to most of this story, we couldn’t leave you behind.”

Khadgar was beaming. Lothar felt his heart swell in his heart as such enthusiasm from the younger man. He recognized a part of himself in Khadgar’s grin. He hoped the game would go well for Garona and him, two first-time LARPers who deserved to have a good game. Gul’dan had ruined enough players’ experience as it was. Lothar’s face darkened at the thought. It had been years ago that they had faced Gul’dan’s dishonesty firsthand. That game had shaped all of the Stormwinds’ game experience for the following ten years. Lothar had questioned Llane’s decision to accept this game if Gul’dan was to be part of it but he had followed the orders. He couldn’t trust Gul’dan to have changed and all that had happened in the first two days of this LARP had only reinforced his distrust for the man.

Lothar noticed Khadgar’s inquisitive gaze at his sudden silence. He smiled gently, reaching to rub his shoulder. The younger man leaned into the touch, returning the smile shyly. A wave of affection washed over Lothar. He could feel himself warming up to the kid faster than he would have liked but there was something inexplicably enticing about him. It did begin to scare Lothar a bit, never having had expected he could feel this way again, even less for a young man only slightly older than his own son. He did not let his sudden agitation show however as he lightly shoved Khadgar’s shoulder. He yelped in the most ridiculous way and Lothar let out a genuine laugh. Khadgar rubbed at his skin, pouting at him as he chuckled. 

“Come on, kid, we need to get ready to leave,” he sobered up, mouth still quirked up in a smirk.

“Right.” Khadgar jumped to his feet, stretching his arms high above his head before turning his head back to the camp. “How many of us are going?”

Standing up, Lothar answered: “We’re taking ten soldiers with us. With Llane, Medivh, Garona and you, we’ll be a party of fifteen.”

“Do we know how many Orcs there’ll be?” Khadgar looked worried.

Lothar reached out, landing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all part of the game.” 

His grin was answered by a dark glare from Khadgar, only making him chortle once more. It was nice to be able to joke around. He was sure in a few hours they wouldn’t laugh.

There was someone hollering at them so they walked towards them. It was a soldier unknown to Khadgar but Lothar greeted him: “Varis.”

“Sir, we were looking for you. King Llane is designating who will be going on today’s mission.”

Lothar nodded, following Varis to the center of camp where everyone had gathered, waiting for Llane to speak.

“Soldiers! Yesterday, we received word that there are tensions amidst the Orcs. A renegade group will be waiting for us at the pass North of the ground. Your commander and myself will be meeting them in order to assess their true motivations. I ask for the bravest of you to join us. Keep in mind that there is always the possibility of us not returning should the Orcs decide to betray our trust.”

There was a sudden wave of shouting and talking amongst the listeners. Khadgar could gather a few words, and many wondered why they were going to meet with the Orcs in the first place. Llane waited patiently until the crowd quieted before calling out: “Karos! You have been a loyal friend throughout all these years. Will you join me?”

“The question does not even need asking, my liege,” declared the instructor, stepping out of the crowd.

Llane received similar responses from the eight other guards he asked. Everyone held their breath as they waited for the last name to drop.

“Callan.”

Khadgar heard a chocked out whimper to his left, and he looked on to see Lothar, face distorted in anguish. The word resonated in Lothar’s head like a death sentence. From the other side of the crowd, Callan, his son, stepped forward to accept the King’s orders. Because these were, in fact, orders and Lothar knew he would not make Llane reconsider. Ignoring this conviction, Lothar stomped his way to Llane, eyes burning in fury.

The gathered soldiers were already beginning to move away and return to their previous activities. Lothar could see Callan reaching to shake Llane’s hand, both of them looking proud. Lothar felt something break in his chest.

Arriving beside them, he hissed at Llane, grabbing his arm and turning him away from Callan.

“How dare you?” He knew his eyes to be two pits of flames, not having felt this much anger and confusion in years.

“Lothar. Control yourself.”

Llane’s face was a stone carved statue. Lothar’s gaze alternated between that of Llane and his son, eyes wide and worried.

“You’re asking me to control myself?” he almost choked on the words. “You’re sending my son, my son, out to get himself killed like the rest of us!”

Behind Llane, Callan addressed frantic signs to his father, asking him to stop. Lothar ignored him.

“He won’t get killed, Lothar. Or is that what you think will happen? That the orcs are just trying to lure us in?”

“You know as well as me that it is more than just a probability!” Lothar’s voice rose to a shout, making Callan jump and look around to see if the two men’s exchange attracted any attention. Lothar did not care.

“You were fine with the plan until now!” finally erupted Llane. “Callan is a grown man, he can make the decision for himself. Lothar, you have to let him go. You won’t be able to protect him all his life.”

Llane’s mouth was set in a hard line, teeth clenched. Lothar held his gaze for several seconds before turning away. He did not even glance at Callan, standing on the side, upset. He walked away without a word.

Llane heaved a sigh. He reach out a hand to Callan, clasping his shoulder and rubbing in comfort.

“He has always wanted the best for you, Callan.”

“Doesn’t he see this is the best?” asked the young man, looking more teenager than adult in this moment. “He can’t keep me in the back forever! How will I ever prove myself to him if he doesn’t let me fight!”

Much in the same manner Lothar had just minutes prior, Callan turned away and stomped off in the opposite direction. Llane watched him go, thoughtful. The Lothars had always had a rocky relationship, Anduin being too protective of Callan and his son being too reckless and smart in return. Callan had driven Anduin insane in his teen years and was just beginning to come round. Anduin still considered him a child while having asked of him to act like a grown-up for many years. Llane, along with Taria and Medivh, had been but helpless to watch and worry about the two. 

Light only knew how the meeting tomorrow would go. Llane hoped more than anything that the Orcs were sincere and they were not marching to their death.

***

The pass was plunged in a bleak semi-darkness. The clouds were still gathering overhead, getting darker and more threatening by the minute. The pass was shrouded in fog and Khadgar could only make out the shape of a tall rock that climbed higher than any of the surrounding cliffs. The air was electric and the atmosphere begging for something to happen. The winds picked up and raised high wails that resonated against the stone. Khadgar quivered and wrapped himself tighter in his blue cloak.

A raven cawed loudly. Khadgar followed the ark of the bird’s flight through the sky. Its presence only reinforced the young man’s sense of danger he was getting from this place. Meeting with the Orcs was one thing, a bad idea in itself and that would probably have needed more talk than there had been, but meeting them here? In the one place where one could not protect their rear nor know what to expect from ahead? Surely both the King and commander, better versed in strategy than he was, would have figured out what a terrible plan it was. Yet, here they were.

Khadgar glanced at the others, eyes barely catching on the still form of two of the GMs who had come to assist to the meeting, doing their best to blend in the landscape. Next to Khadgar, Garona looked as uncomfortable as ever in her bright red tabard. She had draped on her shoulder a heavy garment of a glossy ochre color. Not having it seen on her before, Khadgar guessed it had been given to her back at camp, but he wondered who had. Garona was clutching at it, fist so tight in her nervousness her knuckles were turning white. She kept her gaze steady, fixed at the end of the pass where the Orcs would eventually arrive.

A few steps behind them were the eight Stormwind soldiers, along with Karos and Callan. Karos was impassive, not letting any emotion show, whereas Callan was a jittery bundle of nerves even from where Khadgar stood. He radiated discomfort and fear. His eyes were jumping around, latching on a new target every second, never focusing on the same point. He held his spear at the ready, fingers that Khadgar could imagine were already sweaty clenching and unclenching around the shaft.

Khadgar’s eyes caught another gaze directed at the young soldier. Anduin coveted his son in worry from the distance separating them. He stood at the front, back straight and hands on his sword pommel, Llane standing vigilant at his side. Khadgar studied Lothar’s profile, eyes lingering on his straight, long nose and the curve of his eye. He already knew of the man’s fairness, but to see it in real life was truly something else. Khadgar had spent some extensive time looking at the pictures on the Stormwind Army facebook page. He had already noticed Commander Lothar for his striking beauty. His eyes were icy blue, a color that was impossible to capture with a camera, sometimes so clear it was as if they were white but Khadgar had seen them darken as the tension rose. 

His hair had been the object of Khad’s fascination for the longest, as it flowed neatly on his shoulders, soft and well taken care of. In high school, the younger man himself had tried the long hair, and even if he sometimes missed it now that he had opted for a more traditional cut, he knew he would never have pulled it as good as the Commander did. Nor the beard, for that matter. At the moment, however, Lothar’s facial hair looked unkempt and in serious need of a trim, certainly a result of two nights spent in the wild. 

Khadgar suddenly became aware of footsteps echoing against the stone. He swiveled his head trying to determine where they came from. There was no movement yet but he could hear that several people were approaching. The Orcs were arriving. There was a definite shift in the Humans’ behavior, snapping to attention and directing their focus forward, to the end of the pass where they knew the Orcs would arrive. They only had to wait a few seconds for the first silhouettes to appear.

The Orcs were a deadly troop walking in silence, weapons either sheathed at their back or held in their hands. Their bright red tabard contrasted vividly against the dark stones. Khadgar swallowed nervously at their sight. They each had varying amounts of bone-like jewelry decorating their body. The weapons they wore, axes and broadswords mostly, were impressively large and he wondered how one even could support their weight. They were six, a number consequently lower than their own. He wondered what kind of impression they made on the Orcs. Khadgar risked a glance towards Garona. She looked frozen on the spot, watching the Orcs walking towards them.

They came to a halt a few feet away from Llane and Lothar. There was a moment where each party assessed each other, before one Orc, wearing a large tusk as a necklace, stepped forward. He was tall and broad shouldered, a long mane of dark hair styled in a braid in his back. He was without a doubt Durotan. He addressed a long nod to the two GMs standing on the side, who answered in the like.

His eyes were strained on Llane but his posture was neutral and open. When he started talking, Khadgar strained to hear him above the high wails of the wind.

“I am Durotan, leader of the Frostwolf clan. We seek your help.”

His voice was deep and rough, not unlike what Khadgar would have imagined an Orc’s voice to be in an actual fantasy universe. He was impressed and wondered if Durotan had specifically trained his voice to sound like this or simply had been predestined for this role.

“We are but enemies on this ground,” said Llane. “Why should we grant you our help?”

There seemed to be a moment of uncertainty amongst the Orcs, as they all looked at each other, before Durotan turned towards Llane again.

“Because you do not want to lose this war.”

“You want to help us win?” Llane’s tone was highly disbelieving but it had been what Garona had told them. He wanted to see what Durotan had to say, however, before giving him his trust.

“If it is what it takes to make sure Gul’dan never sees another dawn on any ground, then so be it.”

At his words, the rest of the Orcs nodded and murmured in agreement. However, Llane felt obliged to remind them exactly what siding with the Humans meant for them.

“Helping us is betrayal.”

Durotan chuckled before answering: “Not if you succeed. That is why we need you. It is not betrayal, nor conspiring with the enemy. We were never here.”

Llane let his eyebrows fold in confusion. Durotan sighed.

“We do not have time for this. Are you in or not?”

The King glanced at Lothar, who had not moved from where he stood, hands atop of the other on his sword. Lothar returned the gaze. In an almost imperceptible shrug, he conveyed his surprise at the Orc’s statement. However, he was willing to go along with it. Llane nodded, showing he understood and agreed.

“We’re in,” Lothar answered. 

They could see Durotan’s shoulder sag in relief from where he had kept them tensed since the beginning. He was about to give his response when the air was cut by a loud war cry. It was answered by a chorus of yells from every corner of the pass. Both Orcs and Humans started, hands reaching towards weapons. They turned around, looking for the source of the threat. There was only a second before the first opponent emerged from behind a block of rocks. It was the signal for the onslaught. Figures jumped out from every corner, appearing as if from thin air.

Lothar roared as he lifted his sword to defend himself: “It’s a trap!”

The pass was filled with sounds of swords clinking and yells from the injured. Taken by surprise, the Humans were rapidly losing ground. Lothar looked around, trying to spot each member of the party. He noticed Orcs fighting against other Orcs. Durotan was fighting back to back with a woman who yielded a bastard sword with grace and efficiency despite the weight of the weapon.

Out the corner of his eye, Lothar saw a young enemy charging at him. He swiveled around, not bothering for subtlety as he drove his sword through his head. The Orc stayed upright in shock for several seconds before collapsing. It was one Orc down but it was obvious they were still largely outnumbered. They could not win this.

Fighting his way through the crowd, Lothar looked for Llane, eventually finding him fending off two bulky Orcs towering at least a head above him. Lothar waited for an opening, offering itself when Llane ducked a particularly nasty hit and sent the pommel of his sword to the belly of his opponent, momentarily knocking the breath out of him. The commander entered the battle and together they managed to wound the enemy enough to be able to fight them off. They did not kill them however. They watched, out of breath, as they abandoned the fight.

“What is their goal?” asked Llane.

Lothar answered with a shrug, once again scanning the crowd. He could see Garona and Khadgar fighting side by side, the Orc having apparently found a discarded Stormwind spear and the young man very obviously making use of spells. Together, they made a good team, but they would soon be overwhelmed. Lothar assumed the Orcs to be over twenty, a suspiciously large number for the fifty Orcs in total. This had been ordered by Gul’dan. How he had heard about the meeting would remain a mystery for now.

It took one look between the Commander and the King for them to understand each other. They needed to save themselves. Lothar nodded at Llane, raising his weapon. The King took a deep breath before howling: “Retreat! Retreat!”

He was answered by battle cries from the soldiers. With renewed vigor, they pounced on the Orcs, overwhelming them for the second it took for them to make their escape. They started making the Orcs falter, gaining ground. They slowly made their way towards the West end of the pass. Lothar slashed through the enemy line while attempting to keep an eye on every one of his soldiers. He did not want to think about the casualties yet.

***

“Shala’ros!”

Medivh was sending bolts over bolts of magic, trying to keep the enemies at bay. He only wielded his staff which held no wounding power and could only be useful for knocking enemies out. Luckily, his control over magic was a great advantage against other players who had little to no experience with it. Medivh was striding about the battlefield meaning to withdraw himself from the fight. If anything, he was only obstructing his allies rather than helping them. He knew himself to be much less efficient in large battles than he was in strategy or one-to-one combat. 

Finally, he found himself at the edge of the pass, standing near a wall of stone. He brought his hood over his face, counting on the dark color of his coat to not attract any attention. He spotted Moroes surveying the fight and he made his way towards him.

While walking, he observed the fight but had to admit not much could be deduced from the outside. The Humans were largely outnumbered. Something had to be done or this would only result in the death of all of them.

The GM had noticed him approaching and was waiting for him.

“Moroes, say, what if I had a spell?”

“What kind?” As they were speaking, the GM had already brought his attention back to the fight.

“A sort of energy wall. Based on those energy shields we can cast, what if I concentrate that energy on a very large surface? Could that be achieved?”

“I imagine you’ve already thought this through. A spell of this span would require phenomenal power however,” he added with a pointed look.

Medivh had expected this. Any magic spells required something be given in return. Medivh remembered one memorable game when, to save Llane, he had been put to sleep for two whole days.

“What are you saying?”

“You will lose all power for 24 hours.”

Medivh considered the sentence, letting the full effect wash over him. It was a heavy bargain. He cast a final look at the battle, spotting a Human cornered by three Orcs and watching as they each took a blow at him, watching as he crumbled to his feet, clutching his chest.

“Alright,” he said.

“Then you might proceed.”

Medivh took a step forward. He stilled, brought his hands up and breathed deeply. Even though he was not gathering any real tangible power, he always felt a moment of hesitation before casting powerful spells such as this one. He found he required a lot of focus when doing magic. It was one of the most appealing part of the role.

Breathing out slowly, he began the incantation.

“Saldrak… unar… galedor.”

***

There were shouts coming from everywhere. Lothar suddenly realized he was completely alone, surrounded by enemies. He braced himself, turning around, meeting eyes that looked both terrified and fierce. If they decided to attack all at the same time, Lothar knew he had no chance. He studied them, feigning calm. He saw the very moment they charged towards him, all at once, and he thought it was the end.

“Shata’lia!” 

Two Orcs cried out, dropping their weapons to the ground suddenly. Lothar had a second of shock, but recovered quickly enough to par the other two enemies. He saw Garona and Khadgar fighting next to him. Lothar exchanged a few strikes with his two opponents, always missing their target. Lothar was yielding his sword left and right to protect himself against the onslaught from the two Orcs. 

A dagger suddenly plunged itself through one of his attackers’ throat. Lothar followed the arm wielding the dagger to Garona’s smiling face. It was most likely a killing strike but Lothar did not wait to see if it was. He turned around, focusing his efforts on the only Orc left standing. She was a tall lean woman with long black braids styled on her head. Lothar swirled his sword as they walked in a concentric circle around each other. She sported a crooked smirk that made Lothar weary. 

He fainted to her left, intending to strike her right chin but he was stopped in his movement by her rapid-fire reflexes. His strike was parred with scaring efficiency and they were back to their original stances. They observed a few more circles before she jumped into action.

She wielded her long sword the way one should a rapier, her movements almost blurry at the edge of his vision. There were no useless motion in her fight, only precise and thought out hacks to Lothar’s upper-body. She carefully avoided blows to the face, respecting with dexterity the rules of the fight. Lothar was helpless but to par as much blows as he possibly could without dislocating a shoulder. No injury he sustained was life-threatening on its own, however the accumulation of them was starting to make him worry.

There was a definite moment in which Lothar thought he lost. He saw on his opponent’s face that she thought the same. However, there was a shout and the effect was immediate. Everyone halted in mid movement, weapons raised. All eyes turned towards Moroes. He stepped forward from where he was casually watching and gestured to his colleague. He swiftly made his way across as his colleague did the same such as they found themselves at opposite ends of the pass. On his way, Moroes touched the shoulder of every soldier he crossed. He went in between Lothar and his opponent, touching each of their shoulder as they watched him go, confused. There was absolute silence.

Once at the other end of the pass, Moroes spoke up. 

“An energy wall has just been erected on the line I just walked. Everyone I touched has been projected three feet backwards.”

He cast a glance over the immobilized players. Understanding was slowly dawning on their faces. Some faces turned towards a hooded figure standing a few feet away from the fight. It was Medivh, his heavy cloak obscuring his face. He had just went over the spell with the GM before casting it.

"No one will be able to cross this line. Brace yourselves!"

Everyone refocused on the action they were stopped in, preparing for the sudden onslaught.

“You can resume.”

It could be compared to a whirlwind. Lothar jumped away from the line at the same time as everyone who had been touched. Sound erupted from tens of throats at the same time, creating a cacophony that resonated against the walls of the pass until it filled the space to the full. In the midst of the battle, everyone was stunned. 

“Retreat to the plateau!” yelled Llane.

Hearing their King’s voice renewed the Humans’ vigor. Lothar recovered quickly taking the advantage to extract himself from the brunt of the fight. The wall had separated most Orcs from Humans. There were two or three Orcs still fighting but they would quickly be overwhelmed. Most everyone was now fleeing from the scene. Lothar looked around, spotting Garona breathing heavily a few feet away. He was about to go meet her when he heard a strangled sound and the blood froze in his veins.

“…dad!”

Lothar swung around, eyes looking frantically for his son. Suddenly he spotted him and he felt his heart fall to his stomach. He could see Callan, only a few feet away. He did not have to check to understand he was on the other side of the energy wall. 

“No,” he whispered.

Callan’s eyes were fixed on his own. A hand was wrapped around Callan’s throat. Helplessly grasping at the fingers, Callan struggled against the hold, feet scraping the ground below. The whole pass had gone silent, everyone standing still and watching the scene. There were no Orcs still alive on the Humans’ side, and only one human remaining on the other. Lothar’s eyes went from Callan’s face to the one of the Orc. 

The Orc’s attention was held by the silent plead in Callan’s eyes, reaching out for his father. In his left hand, he swirled his broadsword in an almost lazy way. Lothar unconsciously walked to the line separating him from his son, wanting to reach a hand out to hold him. Callan looked terrified.

The Orc raised his broadsword in a long, disinterested arc. Callan’s eyes closed at the same time Lothar’s did. All they both heard was the swish of the blade in the air and the sound of it going through Callan’s cloth, in between his forearm and chest. Lothar could almost imagine the sound of bones crushing and the sharp smell of blood, the image forming in his mind way more horrible than that of Callan’s suddenly limp body dropping to the ground where he lay, dead.

The Orc plunged his sword in the ground next to Callan’s body, making Lothar start. He was shaking from anger and shock, the both of which made his hand close into tight fists and his eyes were blazing fires. The Orc walked leisurely to the arcane barrage, coming to stop a foot away from Lothar. He was extremely satisfied with his action and he wore a large smirk that he knew would bring Lothar to uncontrolled rage.

The howl that escaped the human’s mouth was exactly what he was wanting to hear as he watched him struggle to keep his hands to his side and not to cross the line. He dropped to his knees, breathless and devastation twisting his features. The Orc huffed, observing the gathered humans watching the scene from a distance with distraught faces. The sheer cruelty of the action had left all of them speechless. The Orc stopped on a single red figure standing on the side, hand on her spear still sunken in one of her own people’s chest, the black cloth already wrapped around his head.

“Garona,” he growled.

“Blackhand,” she greeted back.

“You would betray?”

Garona sneered. “I already have. I would do it again.”

Blackhand huffed again, casting a smug look over the Humans before going back to Garona. He nodded once, a sign of civility that was more than she expected from him. Then, he returned his attention to the Humans.

“I am Blackhand, of the Blackrock clan. You have played beyond the rules of war, Humans. You shall suffer the Blackrock’s wrath. We will crush your pitiful filthy souls with our own hands.”

He turned to go and started walking away. The remaining Orcs picked up their weapon and followed, eyes lingering on the Humans before turning away. The betraying Orcs struggled momentarily against their captor’s hold but were quickly subdued and driven away.

“Blackhand!” 

The Orc stopped in his tracks, standing still for a second before bothering to cast a glance behind his shoulder. He watched as the prostrate human got to his feet, head rising until he was looking at him with eyes burning in rage. 

“I am Anduin Lothar,” he started, breathing labored and body looking just about to sag in exhaustion, “and you’ve just killed my son. Remember my name for I will be the one to kill you.”

Blackhand held his gaze for a few seconds. Then, he looked forward and began walking. He did not bother acknowledging the human’s statement any further. In a matter of seconds, the pass west of the arcane wall was empty but for the cadavers of the fallen.

Lothar held strong until the last Orc disappeared in the distance. Only then did he allow himself to fall back down. There was a moment of complete silence and stillness. The GM walked forward and spoke softly yet loud enough for everyone to hear.

“The wall has subsided. You may step through.”

Lothar dragged himself to his son’s body. Garona turned away, crossing Khadgar’s tear-filled gaze. She herself felt her heart tear at the sight. She grabbed Khadgar’s arm, meaning to drag him away but he resisted. She saw Llane standing still, hand wrapped so tightly around his sword’s handle his knuckles had turned white. The Humans slowly walked away from the pass, checking on each other in low voices. Many were wrapping red cloths around their limbs. The dead had begun to rise also, black cloth loosely wrapped around their foreheads. When a living crossed a dead, the former squeezed the latter’s shoulder as a farewell. Garona watched them go, her own hand squeezing Khadgar’s arm tightly.

His whole attention was focused on the father and son. Callan had sat up and Lothar had softly wrapped the black cloth on his forehead. They had both checked the other for any real injuries, Anduin asking over and over again how Callan’s neck felt. There was an angry red mark on his throat where Blackhand had held him. Lothar swiped a finger on Callan’s dirt-streaked face, incapable of holding back the wave of relief that went over him at knowing he was at least okay.

“Dad. I’m going to be fine. You need to go back to camp.”

“I’m so proud of you, Callan,” Anduin said, his voice laced with tears.

“Dad…” Callan’s eyes were pleading now. 

“So proud,” he repeated. He brought his son’s head to rest against his shoulder, bringing a hand to his back and holding him tightly.

The Lothars stood up, Anduin letting his son go with a pat on the shoulder, a ruffle of hair that was, for once, accepted warmly. Callan rejoined the GMs, discreetly talking to the side, surrounded with the dead from both factions. In death, the rivalry was forgotten, and most came to Callan to ask him if he was alright. One of them stepped forward and brought a hand to his chest, proclaiming that, on behalf of all Orcs, he was sorry for what Blackhand had done. It was not the Orc’s way and never should have happened. Callan accepted the apology with a creased brow. He sent a worried look towards his father but the sight that greeted him reassured him somehow.

Anduin was still weak on his legs, the strain of the fight and the confrontation with Blackhand had left him aching muscles. He only took a few steps forward before Khadgar and Garona went towards him, each taking hold of an arm to support his weight. While Lothar looked immensely annoyed at this setup, Callan knew his father well. He bickered and complained but there was warmth in his eyes as they fell on the young mage, admonishing him in answer to his whining. With the help from the two, Lothar caught up with Llane who had waited for them while the rest of the Human party set off for the camp. Callan didn’t hold his smile as Llane immediately assaulted Lothar, questioning him on his well-being.

“Stop mothering me!” exclaimed Lothar loud enough for everyone to hear.

There were a few snickers in the group around the GMs, quickly quieted by one withering glare by the commander. Callan, although this whole ordeal worried him, knew his father to be in the right hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shameless reference to my own post: https://khadgar-is-bae.tumblr.com/search/spell+sheet


	4. Chapter 4

The away party arrived near the end of the afternoon, grim-faced and not hiding their weariness. Khadgar expected to be pelted with questions as soon as they stepped into camp but there was no such assault. Upon seeing the returning members, soldiers had rushed to the campfires where had been set up pots and grills while healers had come to their side and led the most injured one to be taken care of. Khadgar himself had been hit a few times and a middle-aged woman from Stormwind approached him. He was about to refuse when he spotted Lothar striding away at a fast pace.

“Lothar!” he called out. “Wait!”

The Commander did not seem to hear him. Khadgar wanted to run after him. Lothar’s face was closed-off, his gaze shooting lightning strikes to anyone who even attempted to meet him. Khadgar saw him disappear amongst the tents.

“You should leave him alone for now.” The healer stopped him with these few words. 

Khadgar turned to look at her. She smiled.

“He will be fine. Commander Lothar is not known for his kinder temper.” She laughed lightly before gesturing towards a low bench a few steps off. “Come, I will heal you. You can go see him afterwards.”

Khadgar only nodded, accepting to be cared for. The healer did not tell him her name just like she didn’t ask for his. She only replaced his red cloths with clean white ones, singing the spells in a beautiful voice. She then left to care for others wounded. Khadgar saw Garona standing unattended to the side, holding her arm to her chest. He went to her side.

“Were you hurt?” he asked.

She jumped at the sound of his voice, turning a frightened stare at him.

“Oh,” she breathed, “it’s nothing.”

“Can I see?” he asked.

She reluctantly presented her arm to him. He took it gently, rolling up her shirt’s sleeve to reveal her braces. There were deep purple bruises on her forearm and he furrowed his brow at the sight. Glancing at Garona’s face, he noticed she was gazing off, face turned away from him, seemingly disinterested. Careful not to apply pressure, he turned her arm around. He tightened his hold when he felt her withdrawing. She still refused to meet his gaze with frustrated tears shining in her eyes. Khadgar then inspected the inside of her arm.

“You’re bleeding!” he gasped. There was a thin gash from her elbow to the helm of the brace, surrounded by more darkened bruises. “We need to get you to the infirmary.”

“No!” she exclaimed.

She snatched her arm away, bringing it close to her chest once more. Now she met his gaze, looking wild in her refusal. Khadgar stared at her in confusion.

“There is no need,” she added.

“No need? Garona, you’re bleeding!”

“It is nothing.”

He huffed in disbelief, shaking his head.

“What are you saying?”

“It will heal on its own.”

“What are you afraid of?” he asked.

Garona fell silent. She hung her head low, staring at her feet. She looked very small at this moment, despite her being taller than Khadgar but she was curled up on herself, like a cowering prey.

“Garona,” he started, reaching out for her but she recoiled away from his touch. “Fine. Will you at least let me wash the wound? And bandage it?”

He extended a hand out to her in invitation. She stared at it for silent seconds before accepting, taking his hand and letting herself be led away. They found a quiet spot away from looks. Khadgar figured Garona would not want anyone else noticing she was hurt. He took out a few bandages from his satchel as well as his gourd. Garona was silent at his side, holding her arm out in a sort of wounded pride. He wetted the cloth before swiping it gently over the bloody gash. It was deeper than he would have liked but it stayed superficial. It had already stopped bleeding and he only wiped away the blood starting to dry on her skin. The bruises around the wound were yellowish and significantly darker than her already dark skin. Khadgar then wrapped a bandage around her forearm, tight enough to help the wound close but not to cut off the blood circulation. 

“What happened?” he asked softly.

Garona sighed deeply. He half expected her not to answer but she opened her mouth and spoke.

“At the pass,” she started quietly, “I knew some of them. The Orcs that attacked us, I mean. One of them grabbed me and she spoke to me. Told me what a disgrace I was, betraying my own people and going to you… She said they thought I had died, or been captured. That she never would’ve thought to find me here but how glad she was she did. Then, she… She took out a knife and went to plant it in my arm…”

Khadgar felt her arm tremble as she spoke and he held it in a firmer, more reassuring hand. He had just stopped bandaging it and was tying the cloth. He brought Garona’s arm to rest on her thigh before closing his hand on her fist, holding it. 

“I managed to break free but not fast enough and the knife skidded down my arm. This is nothing compared to what she wanted to do to me.”

Garona fell silent for a couple of seconds before resuming: “I don’t understand, Khadgar. She really wanted to hurt me.”

Anger was rising in her voice. Khadgar tightened his hold on her hand, trying to convey his support to her in a more tangible way than words.

“Isn’t this all a game?” Garona asked. “Isn’t this all for fun? Get away from the reality of the world for a while and just play around with fake swords and fights? Why would she attack me with an actual knife?”

“I don’t know, Rona,” he whispered.

“She intended to hurt me. She actually wanted to. What the hell?” she exclaimed, voice rising.

Khadgar shook his head, at a loss. He did not know what to think about what Garona had just told him. To him, it did not even make sense someone should want to hurt someone in real life, but it seemed even less likely in a LARP where there were rules and a code of honor. Such a move could have gotten the Orc expelled and punished if Garona had decided to report her to a GM. This made Khadgar wonder why Garona did not want to go to an actual nurse.

“You said you knew her?” he questioned Garona.

“Yes, she…” Garona faltered, ending in a firm voice: “Yes, I knew her.”

“Nothing seems to make sense in this LARP anymore,” he mused. “You betraying Gul’dan, Durotan meeting us today, getting ambushed, Gul’dan planning whatever evil plan of his… We seem to be caught in something way bigger than us.”

He met Garona’s gaze, one of wonder holding something dark. She looked at him like she was assessing him. He offered her a questioning smile but she shook her head, smiling in turn.

“Thanks,” she let out, gesturing to her arm.

“Be careful with it. You don’t want to have it get infected. If it hurts too much, promise me you’ll go to the Healer’s tent?” he begged.

Garona chuckled and nodded. “I promise.”

He stood up, soon followed by the Orc. He gestured for her to walk in front as they went back to the gathered soldiers now talking animatedly. The sun had been obscured gradually by looming dark clouds. Rain started falling in a light downpour, small drizzling drops that didn’t actually wet anything spattering against the ground. 

Khadgar and Garona were just about to reach the gathering when they heard a commotion. It came from a little off the center of the camp. People were shouting and there were sounds of struggle. The two young players exchanged a look before rushing in the direction of the sounds.

Lothar stood surrounded by soldiers, face red and wild eyes, throat wide open on a shout. Llane, along with the soldiers, were trying to contain him, grasping at his clothes and his arms but he was animated with such a fury they couldn’t grab a hold of him. Khadgar skidded to a stop at the sight, at a loss what to do.

“Medivh!” yelled Lothar. He repeated the name endlessly, his voice breaking with each shout. Sometimes it only came out in whispers until he managed a torn-off shout again.

Llane was talking to him in a soothing but panicked voice, trying to get him to calm down. It didn’t seem to have any effect on Lothar, as if he had been taken by rage. He did not seem to calm down at all.

Khadgar threw a wide glance around, noticing that the commotion had gathered a fair number of players looking on curiously. The only person who did not come to see what this all was about was the very one Lothar was screaming for. Medivh was nowhere to be seen. Khadgar’s brow furrowed but he didn’t have time to ponder on it as Lothar broke out from the soldiers’ protective circle, pouncing about and yelling at the top of his lungs. 

The onlookers decided the fun was over and were taking steps back fearfully. Khadgar couldn’t blame them. Llane himself was worn out and heaved an exasperated sigh. He watched as Lothar yelled his throat raw, every broken sound churning his stomach. He looked towards Khadgar and Garona, noticing their worried stances, and sighed again. When he came to again, Lothar would feel exhausted and embarrassed, like he always did after a feat of rage like this one. Llane could not remember the last time he had seen him like this but he knew it had been brought on by alcohol then. This time, there was only Lothar and a memory of sorrow that Llane could only begin to imagine.

“Medivh, you bastard!” Lothar was screaming still. The whole camp could probably hear him now. “Medivh! Come on, you spell-weaving cowardly prick!”

Lothar came to a halt, breathing heavily and face glistening with sweat and rain drops. A shocked-off sob wrenched itself from his throat. He dropped to his knees. There was a lull where everything was quiet.

Khadgar rushed forward and dropped down next to Lothar, calling out his name in worry. Garona followed but remained standing a few steps away. Llane watched as Khadgar reached out a hand which was slapped away, Lothar still gathering the last of his forces to resists their assistance.

“Get off me, get off –” could be heard. 

Whispers started growing in the crowd of onlookers, bringing Lothar’s attention to them. He spat out: “What are you looking at?” the fury still making his eyes glisten madly. Khadgar suddenly grabbed his face between his hands, forcing him to look at him.

“Lothar.” His voice was hard and demanded to be heard. “Get a grip. You’re their commander not a wild dog on a leash.”

Lothar sneered at him, mouth contorted in anger. He shrugged his hands off, standing up laboriously but refusing the helpful hand Garona extended to him. At last the fury seemed to have left him snappy and irritated. Again, Khadgar reached for him, only to have his arm be caught in a bone-crushing clutch.

“Leave me,” seethed Lothar.

Khadgar stared defiantly at him as Lothar towered above him, twisting his arm. He spoke no words but the challenge was clear. 

“Guys,” Garona fretted, looking worriedly between the two of them, but it was obvious they had become unaware of anyone outside each other. They had stopped blinking and it was only a matter of which one would break eye contact first. Their staring contest came to an end when Lothar huffed, dropping his stance and releasing Khadgar. The tension dropped significantly and Khadgar took a deep breath in. Lothar turned around and strode off.

“Lothar!” the younger man called out. “For light’s sake,” he muttered between his teeth.

He looked at Garona who simply nodded. He addressed her a small thankful smile before taking off in Lothar’s wake. He followed Lothar to a tent, stepping inside mere seconds after him. The inside of the tent was dark however and Khadgar blinked to get used to the sudden low light. He found the commander downing a bottle, not having bothered to light a candle. Khadgar waited to see if Lothar would acknowledge him first. The older man swallowed and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, setting down the bottle with more force than necessary.

“Is that alcohol you’re drinking?” Khadgar eventually asked.

Lothar barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “I wish,” he admitted, “but it isn’t allowed on the ground.”

He turned to face Khadgar, leaning on the wooden table at the back of the tent. Khadgar walked slowly towards him, wondering if his anger had really subsided or if it was only boiling beneath the surface still. Lothar watched him come, eyes hooded, looking drunk without even being it. Khadgar resisted rolling his eyes. He stopped mere inches away from Lothar and reached for him. His hand brushed against his shoulder and he felt his arm tremble. He smirked then, grabbing the lantern behind Lothar’s back and taking a step back. Lothar breathed out shakily.

Khadgar spotted a box of matches, noticing off-handedly they were modern days but understanding the need for an easy way of lighting a candle. He lit the lantern, setting it on the hook hanging from the top of the tent. The flame cast a warm glow around the large tent, lighting Lothar’s face and making his eyes glisten. Khadgar adverted his eyes, coming to sit down beside him, both facing the flame.

They stayed in companionable silence for a few minutes, mind getting lost in the wavering flame. When it got obvious Khadgar was not going to start the conversation, Lothar heaved a long sigh. 

“I keep seeing Callan.”

Khadgar nodded slowly. Of course he was here to listen and care for him. Lothar shook his head, bitter and thankful at the same time. He still felt so much anger but the young mage’s presence soothed him more than he would have liked to admit.

“His face hasn’t left my mind since…” If Lothar’s voice quivered, Khadgar did not point it out. “And I see Blackhand staring at me while he held my son. I see his hand around his throat. I see his sword through his chest, Callan’s body hitting the ground…”

Lothar fell silent, voice rising hesitantly towards the end.

“But that’s not all there is, is it?” Khadgar asked softly.

Lothar swallowed nervously. “And I see Medivh standing on the side, unmoving, when he raised that arcane wall. If it hadn’t been for this wall, I could have saved him.”

Anger started to rise again. Lothar closed his hand into a tight fist. His eyes were fixed on the flame as he projected all his feelings of rage towards it.

“Medivh brought that wall up,” he seethed. “Medivh trapped my son on the other side of the barrier.”

“You really believe that?” asked Khadgar, wanting to sound neutral despite the worry that transpired on his face.

“He could have conjured it elsewhere!” Lothar was beginning to lose patience, his chest constricting at the questions Khadgar was directing at him. He did not understand what the young man wanted. His heart started racing as panic rose under the pressure.

“Lothar, hey.” Khadgar looked really worried now, brown eyes way too kind under upturned eyebrows. “Do you really think that? Don’t you think Medivh would have done things differently if he could have? In the mist of battle, don’t you think he tried to make the best decision to save the most even if it meant sacrificing a few?”

Khadgar fell silent for a minute, staring right at Lothar’s blazing eyes. He exuded patience and serenity, ready to take on whatever Lothar wanted to shoot at him. He understood Lothar was angry and was willing to help him make sense of what he was feeling. Such kindness sent shivers down Lothar’s spine and made his heart constrict uncomfortably. Unwillingly, his thoughts rebelled against the very idea of kindness being offered to him, twisting it into something he knew it not to be. Memories of helping hands being turned away when he was drowning himself in alcohol resurfaced.

Lothar needed to get out. He needed to not feel trapped anymore, the mere presence of Khadgar in the confined space of the tent sending panicked wave through his mind. He needed to run.

“Lothar,” Khadgar reached out, laying a hand on his arm.

It all happened in seconds. Lothar grabbed the hand and twisted it. Khadgar cried out in pain. Lothar turned around, applying his weight unto Khadgar’s shoulder while taking advantage of the momentum to flip the man flat on his back on the table. He grunted at the shock, papers going flying to the ground. His legs shot up, following the backward fall of his body, and he hit the lantern, sending it twirling on its hook. The flame quivered but remained alight and with each twirl illuminated the corners of the tent.

Khadgar took a sharp breath. Lothar’s weight was pinning him on the table. He couldn’t move, Lothar’s arm keeping him in place and digging painfully in his throat. He wiggled, trying to alleviate the weight. His legs scrambled to find the floor, arching his body uncomfortably. Only his right arm was free and he grasped at Lothar’s arm, trying to shake him off. Out of desperation, Khadgar tried to cast a spell in the hope Lothar would react and free him.

“Shala –”

Lothar’s hand shot up and silenced him, his eyes hard and cold. Khadgar could feel his heartbeat quicken and tears welled up in his eyes. He could see that Lothar was completely blinded by the sudden anger that had filled him. He couldn’t be reached in this state. Khadgar took deep breath, fighting against the pressing feeling in his chest to remain calm. He let his body go lax, dropping the tension in his muscles.

The sudden lack of fight started Lothar out of his blinding fury. He released his grasp on Khadgar, standing up and backing away. Khadgar sucked in a breath and coughed roughly. He straightened his back, leaning his weight against the table while he found his equilibrium.

Lothar dragged his eyes away, focusing on the flame again. His breath was coming out in shaking breaths. His emotions were twirling out of control. He took a deep breath in. He counted to five in his head before letting the breath go. He repeated the motion, counting loudly to drown out the unwanted thoughts and take back control of his emotions.

Irrational anger at Khadgar had risen suddenly. Lothar tampered at it, recognizing the man was only trying to help and how Lothar’s already irritated state had played into his violent reaction. Echoes of an appointment years ago resonated in his head, words about anger management issues spoken in clinically detached tone. The same feeling of intense shame and regret twisted in his gut as it had back in the psychiatrist’s office.

He fought back against the tears, whispering in a shocked-up voice, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Khadgar rushed to his side, tentatively reaching out to him. He accepted the embrace and Khadgar cradled his head against his chest, murmuring soothing words while he rode out the panic wave. Khadgar’s eyes shone with unshed tears and he was glad Lothar couldn’t see him. He stroke his hair in slow motions to calm his breathing down. 

All of sudden, Lothar sucked in a breath. “I did not want Callan to participate in this LARP.”

Khadgar continued his ministrations, asking “Why?”

Lothar’s voice was soft and low, barely above a whisper. “Because… I was afraid. Afraid he would get hurt. And he did.”

His voice had the accent of realization. Khadgar nodded in support and understanding. “It wasn’t your fault,” he told Lothar.

“No, perhaps not…” Memories flooded his mind, memories he did not want to share with Khadgar. A long time ago, before Callan was born, Lothar had participated in his very first LARP. Llane and Taria had not yet married but everyone could see how in love with each other they already were. Lothar was in love too. Cally was young and beautiful. They had been careless during the LARP and Cally had gotten hurt. She had been rushed to the hospital. 

Lothar’s heart ached and his heartbeat quickened again as grief overpowered him. He remembered everything in acute detail of this day, despite having spent most of it in a shocked daze, listening to the doctors. Cally was pregnant. She had gone into pregnancy denial and was already in her third semester.

They did not know… Lothar had not known and he couldn’t have stopped it but shame and guilt had twisted him. During the next three days, Cally remained unconscious until the doctors came to him. “We can save it… we can save the baby.” _What about my wife? What about Cally?_

There was nothing that could be done. They operated Cally in the next hours after Lothar had finally agreed. They performed the caesarean, delivered the baby, closed Cally’s stomach. She survived two more hours. The baby, a boy, and a two months premature. Even now, eighteen years later, guilt rose in Lothar’s heart. He had not been a good father, in the first few years of Callan’s life. He was alcoholic, depressive, grieving and had not known how to take care of his son. Taria had helped more than he could have even hoped for and when he left the buzzing daze of alcohol, six years had passed.

Six years and they had gone back to the LARPing ground. Taria, Llane, Medivh and Lothar had carefully planned out their very first game after what had happened in the last one. And yet… Lothar was beginning to think he was cursed. Even after twelve years of LARPing, having become the most known player within their club, already the most popular one in the state. He had risen to be the Lion of Azeroth and yet, even after all these years, it seemed he was still being haunted by misfortune and grief on the LARP ground.

Almost despite himself, the image of Medivh appeared in his mind, and renewed feelings of anger spiked up his chest. “No, perhaps it wasn’t my fault,” he seethed, “but I will not forgive Medivh this time.”

“Why?” Khadgar asked, pushing away to look Lothar in the eyes. “Why are you so untrusting of him? What did Medivh do?”

Lothar laughed again, that sort of quiet, bitter laugh that made Khadgar’s heart ache. He pushed away from him, head low. He shook his head and resettled against the table next to Khadgar. Lothar was staring off at the flame, its movement reflected in his eyes and casting shadows on his face. He picked up the bottle he had discarded and took a gulp. Khadgar focused on Lothar’s fingers tightening on the leather-bound glass, his mouth as it wrapped around the bottle’s neck and his half-lidded eyes. When he handed the bottle to him, it took a few second for him to tear his eyes away and realize the offering. He accepted the bottle with a whispered thanks, taking a large gulp to hide his embarrassment.

“Medivh has done a lot in all the years I’ve known him.”

Khadgar swallowed and turned a curious gaze towards Lothar. He wiped the drops of water that trailed down his chin, attention captured in just a few words. Lothar did his best to ignore how self-conscious the young man’s gaze made him and the warmth that extended in his stomach.

“Alright,” Lothar sighed, “you deserve to hear this now.” He took a deep breath, Khadgar’s eyebrows tightening confusingly. “Twelve years ago,” Lothar started, “we participated in a LARP. It was the first one in years. I had managed to convince Callan’s grandparents to keep him for a week. We all had missed larping and we were as you are today, overexcited about everything and anything. It was just the four of us back then, Medivh, Llane and Taria, and myself… On this LARP, we met Gul’dan.”

Khadgar started. “Gul’dan?” he exclaimed. “Why didn’t you say you knew him?”

“Like I said, it was only the four of us. No one else in Stormwind knows about this. The thing is… this game was the worst game we’ve ever played. Gul’dan was on our side. He and Medivh bonded over the use of magic on grounds and we were all quite close. But we were blind. We did not realize who Gul’dan was, and what he could do. He was already twisted beyond hope. Taria was the first one to notice. She thought he was crooked and she suspected he was up to no good. We refused to believe her. But on the fourth day, it became apparent someone had betrayed us.”

Khadgar was drinking his words, a look of utter fascination on his face. His lips were slightly open as he concentrated on Lothar’s mouth. Lothar smirked, enjoying seeing how enraptured he had managed to get the mage.

“Taria immediately suspected Gul’dan. It was a forty person LARP, twenty on each side, and she and Llane had already started affirming themselves as leader. We held a meeting and they accused Gul’dan. They had evidence, pretty solid evidence which convinced me. But Medivh refused to believe them. He believed in Gul’dan’s innocence. I worried about him…”

Lothar hesitated in telling the whole story. They had never shared it with anyone after the game. The fact that Medivh had become infatuated with Gul’dan in the short time they had known each other seemed like such a personal thing to share, he did not want to break Medivh’s trust. Gul’dan has taken advantage of that fact, which was the reason Lothar had forgiven Medivh before anyone, not even Taria and Llane. But now, with Gul’dan reappearing in their lives and Medivh’s recent actions, Lothar found it difficult to continue to trust him.

“The fact is Gul’dan had managed to drag Medivh into his machinations. And he led Medivh to betray us, thus leading us all to lose. Our side rebelled against Gul’dan, still unaware of the part Medivh had played. Gul’dan, when he had lost all hope of defending himself and had admitted to treason, revealed what Medivh had done. They were both banned from the LARPing community… And the game was forgotten by most everyone who participated.”

Khadgar gasped. “Medivh betrayed you?” His tone indicated his genuine surprise at that fact.

“Yes. He did not do it on his own and Gul’dan pushed him into treason… With time, we managed to have Medivh reinstated and all traces of betrayal was wiped. We started anew, creating the Stormwind’s Army and we grew to become one of the most powerful group in the community of Azeroth. We had lost contact with Gul’dan and none of us ever heard from him again… until now.”

Khadgar looked thoughtful, analyzing what he had just heard and the events from their current game.

“You believe Medivh betrayed again,” he finally stated.

Lothar avoided his gaze guiltily. He did not want to distrust his friend but he would not pretend not to have thought about it.

“I don’t know if he has,” he admitted. “But how else did the Orcs know about the meeting? Someone had to tip them off. Medivh has history with Gul’dan. I would not put it against any of them to have found their previous _complicity_ again.”

“But what did Medivh had to say? About his betraying?”

Lothar took a deep sudden breath. Medivh had not tried to defend himself. He was completely blinded by his feelings for Gul’dan that he could not see how he had used him. Lothar remembered one conversation, where Medivh had assured him Gul’dan loved him. When realization of what the sorcerer had done had hit, Medivh had crumbled. Lothar did not ever want to see his friend like this again. 

“He wasn’t responsible for it,” Lothar whispered. “He was manipulated. Gul’dan twisted his mind and led him on so Medivh would take the blame.”

Khadgar shook his head. Lothar stared at him, surprised to see anger flaring in his eyes.

“Then why do you doubt him now? If you believed him then, then you should believe him now.”

“You don’t know him, Khadgar.”

“Bullshit,” he spit out. 

Lothar was taken aback at the sheer honesty of the action. Khadgar himself seemed to regret the word right as it left his mouth. For a second, he had all of the deer caught in headlights, wide panicked eyes before he caught himself. He still looked sorry and Lothar let a disbelieving smile stretch his lips.

“Alright,” he said. “Then where is he?”

Khadgar opened his mouth but closed it without saying a word. “I don’t know. Where _is_ Medivh?”

Lothar looked grim. “See? This is what I’m saying. He isn’t even here, after… After everything that happened at the pass.”

“This is not right,” whispered Khadgar.

“I know him, Khadgar,” Lothar exclaimed. “Right now, he’s probably exchanging informations with the Orcs! It’s who he is. He cannot help but be drawn back to Gul’dan like a damn fly to a light…”

Khadgar looked confused at Lothar’s extremely bitter tone. Medivh’s absence worried him. He should have gone back to camp with them after the pass, yet Khadgar did not seem to remember having seen him amongst the returned soldiers. And when Lothar had begun yelling for him earlier, there had been no sign of him. 

***

Medivh woke up to realize he had been tied to a chair. His head throbbed painfully where he had been hit. He remembered the pass, having raised the wall to save the party and give them a chance to run. He remembered the uproar as the fight resumed and the sudden silence when Blackhand had caught Callan. Dread had descended upon Medivh at the sight of his best friend’s son being lifted by the throat, feet scrambling on the ground as he gasped for air. He remembered Lothar’s face stricken with fear and devastation. Medivh had stood away from the main fight, covered in shadows. The GMs were focused on Blackhand, frozen like everyone else as they watched. Then, there was a sharp pain and Medivh was dragged away as consciousness left him.

He stayed unmoving, eyes closed as he took notice of his environment. He was in a tent and it seemed to be night. The air smelled of rain and cold soil. The storm that had been threatening earlier had finally broken. Listening intently, Medivh realized he was alone in the tent. He slowly lifted his head, casting a look around. There was a cot and a table with two chairs. One chair he was sitting on, heavy rope wrapped around his chest and tied around his wrist as well as his feet, effectively trapping him. The other chair was positioned right in front of him, facing him.

The tent’s flap was closed and there was no source of light inside. However, he could see the glow of a flame under the entrance and could hear the sound of chatter. Medivh tentatively tested his restraints, realizing with a shot of panic he quickly subdued these weren’t for play. He was actually tied to this chair with his captor’s intent of keeping him here no matter what.

This was against the rules. Although the thought did not surprise him, Medivh still felt his heart sink. He shivered in the cold of night, feeling it seep in through his clothes. He had been divested of his coat which hung on a coatrack next the cot. He was left in a linen shirt and pants along with his boots. He did not have to wonder much longer where he was and who his captor was.

Voices came closer to the tent, speaking in hushed whispers that Medivh strained to hear. One spoke in rushed, panicked sentences while the other spoke in a low and composed voice. Medivh would recognize that voice anywhere.

Gul’dan and the Orc outside stopped talking and there was the sound of someone walking away. Medivh dropped his head, closing his eyes, pretending to still be unconscious. Sure enough, he did not have to wait before he heard the flap to the tent being pushed aside and footsteps entered the tent. He heard what he was sure was Gul’dan walking around the tent, seemingly paying no attention to him. A flame was lit, casting orange lights under Medivh’s eyelids. Gul’dan sounded upset, breathing loud, or maybe that was just what he sounded now, twisted personality seeping through his physical appearance like a poison. Medivh’s heart constricted at the thought.

Medivh had not seen Gul’dan in all of twelve years. Since the game and Gul’dan getting banned from Azeroth, he had not even heard so much as his name until now. However he had found himself reinstated into the LARPing community and managed to clear his name so he ended up leader of a faction in the Black Morass, Medivh did not know. In his current predicament however, he did not much care. Medivh thought he should have seen it coming. No game wherein Gul’dan was involved could have gone well.

From what he was hearing, Gul’dan was facing away from him, shuffling at the papers on the table and paying no attention whatsoever to the unconscious man tied to his chair. Slowly, Medivh opened his eyes again and lifted his head. Gul’dan’s back was to him, covered in a heavy coat in tatters on his hunched back. Medivh was unable to stay silent.

“I’ve actually wondered if such an unorganized group of barbarians would even need paperwork. Or perhaps that’s just how cheaters are like.”

Gul’dan swiveled around, hissing through his teeth. His eyes shone sickly in the flame, and his features were contorted in furious surprise. He had lost all the charm that had once enraptured Medivh. He felt his lips lift up in disgust and tried his best to remain stone-faced. He almost regretted speaking up, fearing for a second Gul’dan would react with violence. He did not put it below him, as he had already resorted to knock him out to bring him here and then tied him to a chair. He thought with bitter irony he should have thought of gagging him. Instead of hitting him, a laugh escaped Gul’dan’s mouth. Medivh was taken aback. The sorcerer sucked in a breath as he suddenly recovered his composure and set a gleaming eye on Medivh. The mage shuddered, uneasiness settling in his gut. When Gul’dan spoke, his voice dripped of wrath and contempt.

“How we meet again… _human_.”

Medivh started at the name. He had not expected Gul’dan to keep up with the theatrics. How he could still pretend this to be a game when he had tied Medivh up to a chair was highly unsettling. But Medivh met the gaze head-on, not willing to show any weakness to his captor.

“What do you want from me, Gul’dan?”

The Orc turned around, busying himself with the many papers strewn across the table. He coughed a few times and Medivh let his brow crease slightly. Was he sick?

“Of course you would not understand your… potential,” huffed Gul’dan. The way he pronounced that last word stirred Medivh’s stomach as he struggled to make sense of it. He felt like throwing up. “You can rest assured,” Gul’dan continued, “I do not intend to kill you. Yet,” he added with a side-glance and a smirk. “You are much valuable.”

He seemed to have found what he was looking for amongst his papers and he slammed it against the table, beginning to read, murmuring words along.

“What is it you want?” asked Medivh, purposefully interrupting his reading. “Informations? Clues on our strategy?”

Gul’dan shocked out another laugh which evolved in a coughing fit. He turned around to face Medivh again.

“I do not care for your pathetic attempt at war, human,” he spit out. “No…” 

He lifted a hand to Medivh’s face. He made a gesture to stroke his cheek but stopped himself. Medivh had backed up as far away from the hand as he could, eyes fixed on the reaching finger with growing disgust. Gul’dan shook himself and refocused on his papers. He looked like a mad man and Medivh could feel his feigned composure begin to disintegrate with every passing second in his presence.

“Then what is it you want?” he asked, voice quivering slightly towards the end as dread bubbled up his throat.

Gul’dan smirked, revealing in the crooked curve of his smile a rank of white teeth which gleamed like fangs. Medivh wondered honestly what Gul’dan’s motivation was. He wanted to understand why he was here and why he had captured Medivh. He wanted to know what all this meant.

“Don’t you understand? Come on, even your slow, stupid mind can work this one out, Medivh.”

It was the first time he had spoken his name and Medivh shivered. As he spoke, Gul’dan got closer and closer to him until he was face to face with him, Medivh straining his neck to keep away. Medivh’s breath came in panicked hitch and Gul’dan’s smile only grew wider.

“Surely the _traitor_ has informed you of my _plan_. You don’t expect me to be able to do such a fit on my own? You flatter me, Medivh. But you see…”

Medivh’s eyes widened as Gul’dan got impossibly close.

“I _need_ you.”

Gul’dan backed away suddenly, almost making Medivh’s chair tumble backwards. Medivh sucked in a breath. His ears registered Gul’dan’s laugh through the thump of his blood against his temple. If it wasn’t for the sudden dread that overwhelmed him at the sound, Medivh would have mocked Gul’dan for his villainy laugh. As it was, the bellows that escaped Gul’dan’s shaking form were enough to terrify him to his core. He watched as the sorcerer grabbed the paper he was reading earlier in a grand movement and headed out the tent in a loud laugh burst. 

Medivh’s breathing was coming out in fast, heaving huffs as the adrenaline slowly left his body. When he had slammed the flap back into place, Gul’dan had blown out the candle. Medivh was left in the dark and alone, and as the cold replaced the panic in his bone, he started to shiver. He sent a silent prayer towards the Human camp for someone, anyone to notice his absence and for someone to be sent to retrieve him. He fell asleep when the sun had started to rise, exhaustion finally winning over the cold, muscles beginning to ache from his restrained position on the chair.


	5. Chapter 5

Even after leaving the tent, Khadgar kept wondering about Lothar's words. The older man had left him to go apologize to Llane. Khadgar, for his part, decided to retreat to his own tent which he was supposed to have shared with his party. He walked in, expecting to be alone, to find Donavon sitting on the bed. Khadgar groaned at the sight, memories of the first two days coming back to him.

Donavon raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Last I checked, this was also my tent. You've got a problem with that?"

Khadgar sent him a withering glare, hesitating between ignoring him and answering. He stepped in the tent, depositing his bag on one of the vacant bed. The other three beds were sharp reminders of Donavon's actions. He could feel his gaze following him and Khadgar suddenly dropped the bag and turned around.

"I would rather sleep in the barracks than share a tent with you."

Donavon sneered at him. "Then why don't you?" He said, crossing his arms and staring stubbornly at the wall.

Khadgar stared at him. He looked not unlike a child right now, pouting and refusing to meet Khadgar's eyes. Khadgar huffed, deciding he did not want to deal with this tonight. "Fine. Suit yourself." Khadgar took hold of his bag again, making for the door.

"Wait!" Donavon called behind him. Khadgar stilled, let out an annoyed sigh and turned around reluctantly. 

"What?" he spat out.

"Where were you today?"

Khadgar looked at him confused. "Why do you want to know?"

Donavon looked sheepish then, still not completely meeting his eyes, fiddling with his hands on his lap. "I don't know, no one would tell me anything but there has been all sorts of activity around here. I just don't know what's happening."

Khadgar gaped at him. He thought back on the day he just had, from the time he woke up, the events of the pass, seeing the Orcs arrive, and then the adrenaline when he realized they had been trapped. Not for the first time today, Lothar's roar when Callan had been killed echoed in his head, and then he remembered the walk back to camp, and how they had been welcomed back with sad smiles and the promise of food and company. How could Donavon have missed all this? And yesterday, when Llane had called for volunteers to go to the pass, where had he been?

Curious, Khadgar asked: "Where exactly did you sleep yesterday night?"

Khadgar had come into the tent quite early and he thought back guiltily that he had not once wondered where Donavon, the only surviving member of his party, was. He had slept alone in the tent but today Donavon was here, and looking more embarrassed by the minute.

Khadgar took a step forward, looming above Donavon who opened wide eyes and started sputtering. "After you left with, with the Commander, I was... I was so angry, I wanted to follow you but they stopped me and I. I threw in some punches and... I ended up in the barracks, with a guard standing in front of the door... I tried talking to him but he wouldn't hear. And then, I heard Lady Taria in the barracks next to me? But I couldn't hear what she was saying, she was with the other prisoner... the Orc... and..." Donavon trailed off, eyes still opened wide and mouth quivering.

Khadgar stayed silent, staring at him with an inscrutable expression before bursting out laughing. The terrified look on Donavon's face morphed into one of indignation.

Khadgar tried to catch his breath in between bouts of laughter. "I just- You- Oh god!" while Donavon frowned and looked indignant. "I'm so sorry", Khadgar finally was able to say, "but you're just so much more pathetic than I thought!" He laughed again, giggles escaping his throat even as he tried to retain them. 

He found his seriousness again when he realized Donavon now looked pained. Khadgar couldn't help the pitying gaze he laid on him.

"Seriously," he told him, "why are you such a dick?"

Donavon stayed silent and Khadgar sighed again. He came to sit on the bed next to him, leaning forward to talk to him.

"No one cares for you if you lie and pretend to be stronger or braver than you already are. People see through this. And I don't think you actually enjoy being an asshole, it's just the only way you could think to receive the recognition you seek."

For the first time, Khadgar wondered how old Donavon really was. He was at least twenty one, since the Stormwind's Army did not accept anyone under. Yet he looked so much younger and Khadgar felt much older than his twenty two years.

It seemed he needed time to sulk and think about what Khadgar had said. Khadgar stood up, casting one last glance at the soldier before exiting the tent. 

He had lost all want to go to sleep, and he had also no idea where he could spend the night. He figured he'd like the barracks better once he was really exhausted. There were still some soldiers out even as most of the camp had returned to their tent. The soldiers had gathered around a campfire, sharing a skin between the eight of them. When they saw Khadgar approaching, they cheered, immediately shushing each other. They all looked pretty young and Khadgar couldn't see any Stormwind higher up among them. 

He smiled slightly, watching as they shuffled to make some room for them. They were obviously drunk and Khadgar remembered what Lothar had told him, that alcohol was forbidden on the ground. Khadgar chuckled, coming to sit next to them.

Multiple conversations fused between them, all of them slurred and confused, all the while trying to stay quiet not to alert anyone who might report them. Khadgar observed them for a while, recognizing two of the faces as soldiers who had come to the pass. He felt like it was the first time he had been allowed to sit down for a while without worrying about anything and Khadgar let the feeling wash over him, erasing any residual annoyance he felt against Donavon. 

Someone handed him the skin which he had guessed contained alcohol. Khadgar accepted it without thinking but hesitated. He leaned over, asking "What is it?" The answer he got, "Vodka, man," sounded so natural that Khadgar felt he was back in the dorms during one of the students' party which he rarely participated in. Khadgar did not care much for alcohol but he figured some wouldn't hurt.

The vodka burned his throat and he coughed, while his companions laughed. He received a hard slap against his back. Khadgar laughed through the coughs, letting their cheerful attitudes and the buzz of alcohol reach him.

The rest of the evening was passed in animated talks of the merits of craft foam and the critically acclaimed worbla for creating cosplays, one group defending the economical point of view while the other chanted the merits of the expensive material. Khadgar, as a broke  
college student, was on the “save your money” team. Most the soldiers had removed their Stormwind armor and one of them had fetched a wrist piece as demonstration that foam, as a material, was not in any way inferior to worbla and was quite sufficient. 

Khadgar observed the piece, turning it in his hands for long minutes. He had dreamed of making himself an armor but he had had neither the time nor the means to even buy foam, much less worbla. He had been overjoyed to hear the Black Morass did not ask for complete armor sets to enter the ground and had immediately set to work on his cloth and leather costume. He was very proud of it, and listening to the Stormwind members talking, he realized they had not made their own costume. Instead, they were custom made by a specialist in all types of costume-making. But they were still pieces that were unique to the players. 

He knew for a fact that Lothar had crafted much of the weapons, while Medivh had carved his own staff, also using foam and latex. The players surrounding Khadgar admitted to the fun that was creating your own costume but most of them were students or full-time workers. They were grateful not to have to make their entire armor.

The conversation lasted until well after the sun had set and everyone had excused themselves to sleep until there were only three of them. Khadgar and one of the remaining player were talking animatedly about the film adaptation of The Hobbit, while her girlfriend shook her head, lost. Khadgar did not know how they arrived to talking of it and got quite invested in defending the decision of making it a three opus series instead of just one movie.

Eventually, they all had to admit defeat to the cold and exhaustion. Khadgar stood up, surprised to feel the strain in his muscles from his prolonged position cross-legged on the ground. He stretched, shaking his sleeping leg until the itching sensation passed. He bid goodnight to his two companions and watched as they went together to their tent, holding hands. He stayed standing there, alone, for another long while until he shook himself. The campfire had turned to glowing embers. The vodka in his veins kept him from the cold and he finally set off to find somewhere to sleep.

Instead of going to the barracks, he took the direction of one of the tents, slowly finding his way through the dark camp. He was careful not to make too much noise so as not to wake anyone until he reached the tent. He raised the flap, entered the black room, and meticulously closed it. He turned and went for the general direction of a bed. He grunted in pain when his hip hit the corner of a table. The sudden pain caused him to jump, groaning a few more times for good measure. He stopped, wondering why the hell there was a table there, and heard some shuffling.

“What the hell?” a gruff voice said.

Khadgar felt his mouth fall open. His thoughts were going too fast for his sleep-driven, alcohol-laden mind and he went with the first sensible option he thought of.

“I’m going to sleep here, if you don’t mind,” he said.

Ignoring the confused protest, he proceeded to remove his coat and laid it down on the cold, hard ground. Then, he lied down on the coat. There was some more shuffling above his head from what was without a doubt the bed, and the sound of a match being lit. Light flooded the space, illuminating Lothar’s face.

“What the hell, spellchucker?” he grunted, voice and eyes heavy with sleep.

“Don’t worry about me, commander,” Khadgar uttered, keeping his eyes stubbornly closed.

He heard Lothar falling backwards into his bed and then a drawn-out sigh, the sound of the wooden bed creaking and Lothar blowing out the match. 

“Well if you’re gonna sleep here, at least get in bed,” came the slurred order.

Khadgar’s eyes shot open. He waited a few seconds, not daring to move, wondering if the commander was serious or playing a joke on him and about to throw him out. He had not intended to find himself in Lothar’s tent but now that he was, he found he was quite well on the ground. He was way too exhausted and drunk to care anyway.

Carefully, he turned around, searching the darkness for the shape of Lothar’s body on the bed. His tired eyes strained in the dark. Lothar was breathing slowly, as if back to sleep already, and did not seem to brace himself to kick Khadgar out.

Guardedly, Khadgar stood up, collecting his coat. He shuffled towards the bed, seeing how Lothar had moved to make some space. Khadgar considered the two options he was now faced with. Accept the commander’s offer with the fear of getting rebuked in the morning or leave the tent and head for the barracks where it would be cold and damp and he only had his coat to protect him. His exhausted body made that choice for him.

Khadgar slipped under the covers, trying to make himself as small as possible as he settled next to Lothar. The commander turned, facing him and Khadgar stilled. He listened attentively for his breathing, wondering if he really was asleep or only pretending. When Lothar started snoring, Khadgar relaxed a bit. He laid awake, listening to Lothar sleeping and acutely aware of the mere inches separating them.

Khadgar blinked in the dark. His own breathing was slowing down with each second that passed. He was starting to feel the beginning of a headache and yearned for sleep. He was about to let sleep take over when he felt Lothar shift. Khadgar’s breath hitched and got stuck in his throat. He did not dare move a muscle as Lothar groaned and turned. For a split second, Khadgar could see himself flying out of the tent at full velocity, landing on the cold grass outside while the commander howled behind him. Khadgar considered inching away from the man when a heavy arm was thrown over him.

Khadgar blinked. The arm stilled when meeting his chest before resuming its course, wrapping itself around him and pulling. Khadgar ended up pulled flush against Lothar, the man’s face pressed in his shoulder. Lothar sniffled and clicked his tongue twice before returning to deep sleep. 

Silently, Khadgar mouthed: “What. The hell.”

Heat was climbing up his throat. Their newfound proximity had Khadgar realize Lothar slept bare chested. The young man swallowed around the lump in his throat. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. He tried shifting under the arm, trying to pull it off him in an effort to leave the place before the morning. He found he was effectively trapped under the weight of Lothar’s limb. All it lacked was for their legs to intertwine and they would be as close as humanly possible.

Lothar shifted again. Khadgar closed his eyes tightly, muffling his groan in the pillow as bare flesh touched his stomach where his shirt had rode up. Even through both their pants, Khadgar could feel Lothar’s heat seeping through to him. Khadgar’s eyes rolled as the implications of their position sent frenzied goosebumps up his arms. It was going to be a long night, he thought.

***

When he woke, he was alone. Khadgar kicked the covers out of the way and sat up. He frantically searched the space around him, not recognizing his surroundings. His heart beat fast and loud in his ears. Light filtered through the thick white tarp of the tent, casting a bright glow on every furniture. Khadgar tried to catch his breath, grasping at the covers as he could feel the remnants of a dream fading away as awareness washed over him.

He was in Lothar’s tent, he repeated to himself, he was safe. Once his breathing was back under control, he realized he remembered nothing of his nightmare except for this searing panic that had awoken him. Khadgar sighed frustratingly, feeling the shame that usually came with the blind panic he has felt, and threw the covers off of him where they had tangled with his legs. His feet hit the ground, expecting to find the uneven floor of rocks covered in tarp and instead sinking into a soft and heavy fabric.

Khadgar looked to see his coat sprayed on the floor in a heap. He remembered having laid it atop of him before going to sleep. It must have fallen at some point during the night. He picked it up, dusting it slightly. He wondered if he had tossed during his sleep and if perhaps that had woken Lothar up. It would explain why he was not in the tent come morning. Another wave of shame came over him and he angrily started to fold his coat. 

He had not had night terrors since he was ten but nightmares had never completely left him. As usual, he did not remember what he dreamed of. The child therapist he had been sent to had sternly stated the obvious, that he remembered the night of the accident that had taken his parents and younger siblings away from him. Khadgar finished folding the fabric, slapping it on top of the bed with more strength than necessary. He could feel exasperation twisting in his gut. It had been sixteen years since he had become an orphan, swung between foster homes and group homes, awakening in the dead of the night and waking everyone up with his screams. 

When the night terrors had receded, only to be replaced by nightmares and insomnia, Khadgar had chosen not to talk about it, feeling guilty at the burden he was sure he had been to anyone that had to take care of him up until this point. When he had reached eighteen and had been released from the foster care system as a legal citizen, even the nightmares had started to disappear as he exhausted himself with working night shifts to support his studies.

The fact he had just woken up with a scream begging to be released, a thin coat of sweat on his skin, grasping at shadows that weren’t there, had brought back memories he did not wish to ever think about again. The only explanation he could find to this was how safe he had felt last night, curled in the heat of the body next to him, only to wake up alone. Khadgar did not dare think about what it meant, for his careful defenses to have been shattered so easily by the simple presence of someone at his side. 

He stood up, willing the thoughts and doubt away, refusing to acknowledge how terrified he felt of getting so attached to someone. Not to mention Lothar was far from someone he would have wanted to get attached to. He reasoned his nightmare probably had nothing to do with him anyway, more than likely brought by the fact he was in an unknown place and starting to miss the campus bedroom he called home. He stubbornly ignored the fact he had had no nightmare the two days prior, where he had also slept in unknown premises, if a makeshift camp in the middle of the forest and an empty five-bed tent could be called premises.

It suddenly hit Khadgar that light was flooding in from the outside and clamors from camp activity could be heard. He wondered how long he had slept. Now that the panic had gone, he realized his head was heavy with a headache and his mouth and throat were painfully dry. He remembered how drunk he had been the night before and grunted at the realization he was hungover. Alcohol had never really been his thing yet he had indulged last night, surrounded by welcoming company and the warm atmosphere of the campfire. 

He set out to find a bottle of water, trying to remember if he had seen Lothar taking the bottle out yesterday when he had visited him. While looking around the tent, scarcely furnished with a bed, a table and a chest, Khadgar noticed the armor stand in a corner. Curiosity got the upper hand and Khadgar approached. Lothar’s LARP armor had been carefully arranged on the stand, down to the sword and helmet. Khadgar had seen it on Lothar already but he could not get close enough to actually study it. 

He hesitantly ran his hands over the smooth breast plate. Giving in, Khadgar tested the rigidity of the foam. A hardening spray had been used to mold the pieces to their shapes. The whole rendering was actually quite hard while at the same time being very light. Khadgar admired the paint job on the overall armor and the subtle details that made it look like real steel. Having yesterday examined the classic armor of a Stormwind soldier, Khadgar could now compare with that of the Lion of Azeroth. The nickname had been coined by the animal symbol of Stormwind’s Army that adorned the belt of the soldiers. Lothar’s armor showed similar details but the overall armor was quite different. 

Khadgar had just moved to examining the helmet when he heard the flap of the tent be pushed aside. He swiveled around to be met with Lothar. His heart missed a beat. He wondered if Lothar expected to find him still here and if not, what he would say. Out of armor, Lothar wore a simple leather tunic over his linen clothes and Khadgar wondered if it had been made by the same professional who did all the armors or if Lothar had made it himself.

“Good, you’re awake,” said Lothar without preambles. Khadgar merely nodded. “I was wondering when you would awaken from your beauty sleep,” he added with a wink.

Khadgar let out a laugh that morphed into a bout of coughing. Lothar looked at him with worry.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Khadgar croaked, gesturing to his neck, “just, dry throat.”

“Right,” said Lothar, moving swiftly across the room and opening the chest. He got out a bottle of water, handing it to Khadgar who took multiple long gulps. Lothar moved to rest again the table, crossing his arms. He was suddenly serious, waiting for Khadgar.

“What is it?” the young man asked.

Lothar hesitated, looking grim. “I met with Llane this morning. Medivh is definitely missing.”

He met his eyes as Khadgar frowned. Their talk yesterday had been less than satisfying and he doubted Lothar’s stand on the subject had changed much.

“You still think he betrayed?”

Lothar sighed. “I don’t know, Khadgar. We simply don’t have enough information. For all we know he could be dead.”

“But you doubt it.”

Lothar remained silent, looking guiltily at Khadgar.

“There has to be an explanation,” the young man said.

“Yes, and it’s that Medivh has betrayed us.”

“I don’t accept it.”

“Khadgar,” breathed out Lothar exasperated.

“Don’t you find it odd that he just decided to leave after the ambush? That is like, waving a wide sign saying ‘I betrayed you.’ Wouldn’t you think he’d have done everything to keep that a secret until the end? It makes no sense for him to not come back with us.”

Lothar straightened, coming closer to Khadgar. His face was clearly saying he did not believe any of the words Khadgar was saying. He reached out his hands towards Khadgar’s face but he slapped them away.

“I will prove this, you know,” he said, eyes firmly locked with those of Lothar.

Lothar stared at him, confusion and surprise dancing in his eyes. He was searching Khadgar’s gaze for the slightest bit of doubt. When he found none, he chuckled and shook his head, letting his hands fall by his sides. His gaze turned fond when he looked at Khadgar again.

“Do your worst, kid.”

The look on Khadgar’s face was worth it.

***

“We need to do _something_!” Lothar cried out, slamming the stack of paper he had been waving around.

Llane remained motionless, thoughtfully staring at the wide battle map spread out before him. They had been discussing their next move for the better part of the last two hours and yet they had not reached one satisfying solution.

“Llane,” Lothar insisted. “Tomorrow, your soldiers will walk out there not knowing anything of what they’re about to face. All of them will die because the men we’ll have to fight will just not die! There has to be a way of stopping him!”

Lothar huffed, turning on the spot, hands going up, helpless. He was going crazy with this. 

“Lothar,” uttered Llane in a manner he wanted soothing.

“What?” his friend spat out.

“Calm down, first of all.” Lothar held his King’s gaze until he had to surrender to his superior authority. “And what do you suggest we do? Gul’dan has planned well. He will not be stopped by the GMs. He wasn’t last time and he won’t be this time either.”

Llane took a deep breath, his own frustration showing in his tight muscles around the lips and eyes. They were alone in the tent, Taria having gone early on in the meeting. Her absence only added to Llane’s rising aggravation. 

“The only way we had was through Durotan and that backfired.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Llane regretted them. He shot a glance towards Lothar. The man’s shoulder sagged suddenly, his face darkening. Llane walked around the table, resting a hand on his friend’s arm.

“I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”

Lothar raised a grief-stricken face towards him and Llane felt his heart constrict. “I was so scared, Llane,” he whispered.

“I know,” he said, bringing Lothar’s face to rest against his shoulder. For him too, Callan’s demise had brought back painful memories of that fateful game eighteen years ago. “I know,” he repeated as he held Lothar.

Lothar straightened back up, face carefully guarded as he regained control of himself. Llane let him go, aware that this was, and always had been, a difficult subject. He turned back towards the table right as the entrance to the tent was flown open. In entered the young Khadgar, waving around a small leather-bound book, followed by Varis looking overwhelmed.

“I’m sorry, sir, he insisted, even as I told him…” he started apologizing. 

Llane raised a hand. “It’s alright. What is it, Khadgar?” he asked the restless young mage.

“Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt,” he immediately answered. “But I was going over the ground’s backstory, and I found something that might interest you.”

Llane furrowed his eyebrows, glancing over at Lothar, who simply shrugged. Llane gestured at the mage who handed him the book. Llane recognized it as one of the only two copies that had been made and given to the leader of each faction. Llane had then left it in Lothar’s care. How Khadgar had ended up with it was a mystery. Llane raised an eyebrow at the commander who dismissed his amused questioning with an eye roll.

“So? What is it?” Llane enjoined.

Khadgar was literally vibrating with excitation and his gaze jumped from Llane to Lothar frantically.

“Here,” he started at Llane’s insistence, “towards the beginning. It says here that the Orcs arrived in the Humans’ world by a portal opened by a powerful Orc sorcerer. But it says,” he flipped the pages rapidly, “ _there_ , that they were invited in.”

He took a step back, letting Llane read the passage in question. He remained silent while he waited.

“I see,” murmured Llane.

Lothar glanced between the two of them, Llane’s focused reading and Khadgar’s proud attitude making him nervous.

“Well?” finally pressed Lothar.

“Gul’dan is posing at the sorcerer that brought the Orcs in, and he intends to have Medivh fill in the role of the human who invited the Orcs over, see, this is how he intends on performing his final spell, this book says the Orc’s power relies in lives taken, and he wants to use Medivh to justify his raising the dead!” Khadgar stopped and caught his breath.

Lothar’s eyes widened. 

“You mean… Medivh did not betray us?” Llane asked, hope clear in his voice.

“No, sir,” swore Khadgar, a small smile gracing his lips. 

“When I was talking to Medivh about whether or not this spell was even possible, he said it would take tremendous power,” said Llane. “It would make sense he seek help from another mage.”

Lothar shook his head. “We don’t know for sure.”

Khadgar turned to look at him, looking betrayed. “You _still_ doubt him?”

“I will until I talk to him,” said Lothar darkly.

Khadgar angrily dismissed him, instead turning back to Llane.

“If I am right, then Medivh must be somewhere in the Orcs’ camp. Gul’dan must wait until the last moment to perform the spell that’ll steal Medivh’s life energy.”

Llane nodded. “Yes, Medivh must still be alive.” A glimmer of hope made his eyes shine. “I will need to talk to the GM.”

Saying so, Llane grabbed the book and left the tent, leaving Khadgar alone with Lothar. The silence was tensed as the two men challenged each other.

“I found proof,” Khadgar told him.

Lothar scoffed. “You found probable cause. Let’s not call it proof yet.”

He began pouring himself a glass of water from the pitcher standing on the table. He paced the room, holding his glass without drinking from it. Khadgar watched him walk back and forth, a tempest raging in his mind. He could not believe how dismissive Lothar was being. He had been so excited of his discovery. It made sense. Garona herself had said Gul’dan must have done every research possible to be sure his plan would work. Basing his spell on the backstory was the most sensible thing to do and it just happened to hold a possible explanation for everything that was happening. What more did Lothar want?

Suddenly, the commander came to a stop and swiveled to meet Khadgar’s eyes.

“You went through my things?” he exclaimed.

Khadgar opened his mouth to answer, wit bubbling in his throat, before catching himself. He stood motionless and mouth agape.

“What?” he eventually let out.

“The book! Where did you find it?”

Khadgar stared at him, confused. “Wait, wait, wait. _This_ is why you’re angry at me?”

“I’m not angry at you,” stated Lothar, resuming his pacing, now with his arms closed.

“Hum, yes, you are.”

Lothar stopped abruptly again, glaring at him. 

“You didn’t think I could do it,” realized Khadgar. “You didn’t think I would find a proof of Medivh’s innocence. You _wanted_ him to betray you!”

Lothar opened his mouth to protest but Khadgar was having none of it. “Shut up!” he said, ignoring the shocked look on the commander’s face. “Don’t follow me.”

Khadgar exited the tent, leaving a dumbfounded Lothar behind. Behind the flap, Varis did his best to remain neutral but it was obvious he had heard everything that had just gone on between them. Lothar let out a disbelieving sound. Khadgar’s words danced in his mind, along with the sheer contempt he had displayed. Everything he had said was true, of course, but Lothar did not expect Khadgar to accuse him so. Despite himself, guilt twisted in his gut. He had not wanted to believe in Medivh’s innocence because it had been easier. It was easier if he could blame him for Callan’s death, and blame him for the fiasco that this game was turning out to be, and for that game twelve years ago. It had been easier instead of blaming himself.

***

Llane walked swiftly through the camp, barely bothering to answer to the soldiers’ acknowledgment of him. His meeting with Moroes had gone in an unexpected way, Llane having found Moroes to be inexplicably cold and distant. Nonetheless, he had confirmed what Khadgar had said. In order for Gul’dan to perform his spell, he would need help and Medivh was more than likely to be the unwilling partner in crime. 

When they had heard of his prolonged absence, Llane and Taria had looked at each other with unreserved worry. It had taken a lot for them to recover from the game twelve years ago but they had managed to convince Medivh it had not been his fault. He had been so blinded by his feelings he could not have been responsible for his actions. Gul’dan had twisted his judgement but Medivh had realized that. Not before it was too late, but this realization had been enough for Taria and Llane to forgive him. It had taken longer for Medivh to forgive himself.

It had taken time and dedication to clear Medivh’s name but they had succeeded and went on with their lives. Llane had put his trust in Medivh and had not once been led to regret it. When the doubt of having been betrayed had reached him, Llane had done everything he could not to believe it. But Lothar was so set that Medivh had betrayed again, Llane had not known what to think. He would have to thank Khadgar dearly for dismissing every last doubt he had.

Meeting with Moroes had also convinced Llane that something way bigger was going on. His attitude had been highly suspicious but Llane did not know why. He figured they weren’t over all their surprises and should prepare for the worst. He found Taria talking to Karos and hailed them. They needed to hold a meeting.

He expected to find Khadgar and Lothar still at the main tent but when he entered, at the same time inviting Varis to join them, he found Lothar sitting alone at the table, staring into a glass of water like it was fine whiskey.

“What are you doing?” he asked bluntly.

Lothar seemed to be shaken out of deep thinking, looking up at them with confusion. “Oh, hi, Llane.”

“Hi,” he answered, not hiding his amusement. “Where’s Khadgar?”

Lothar was back to staring at the bottom of the glass. “He left.”

“Do you know why?”

“Yeah.”

Llane waited but no further explanation came. He figured he did not have time for this and the meeting would have to be held without the presence of the man.

“Alright, Lothar, snap out of it. We’ve got to plan our next move.”

“Sir, if I may,” interrupted Karos, “the soldiers are becoming anxious at your silence. The great final battle is tomorrow yet you have not told them anything.”

Llane became thoughtful. “Yes, I know. I will talk to them.”

Taria then enjoined him to explain why he brought them here.

“I know where Medivh is.”

This statement brought gasps from every mouth in the room, except Lothar.

“He is held hostage in the Orcs’ encampment. Gul’dan intends to steal his energy in order to infuse eternal life into his soldiers and thus, winning the battle.”

There was a shocked silence. Lothar himself raised his head to look at him.

“You’ve confirmed it?” he asked.

“Yes. But I’m afraid it is way bigger than just one man. Moroes acted… bizarrely,” he confided in them, “we will have to act with the upmost caution.”

Llane gazed at the stern faces surrounding him as a plan formed in his head.

“Lothar,” he called. “I want Medivh found and rescued. We are not losing this war. Without Medivh, Gul’dan cannot achieve his evil spell.”

“But, Llane,” protested Lothar.

“You will go to the Orcs’ camp. Take Karos with you, and the mage. Garona will be of use to direct you through the camp.”

Lothar merely nodded, understanding he had exhausted Llane’s patience. He would do what he was asked, no matter what he thought of the plan.

“Good. Varis, Karos,” Llane then nodded towards the two soldiers, who exited to gather the troops. “Lothar, go find Khadgar and fix whatever it is that is going on between the two of you.”

Ignoring Lothar’s indignant spluttering, he lead him to the door. “You were sulking,” he offered as sole explanation, letting him go with a pat on the shoulder.

Llane then turned towards his wife. Taria was looking at him equal part proud and worried. He approached her, caressing her cheek with a finger.

“Spoken like a true King,” she whispered.

Llane chuckled, diving in for a kiss. When they parted, Taria held a slight pout to her lips.

“What if they fail?” she asked. “Are we just going to let Gul’dan win?”

Llane looked stern. “Not without a good fight. But this isn’t just about Gul’dan. I’ve told you about Callan… This Orc, Blackhand, he is not playing by the rules either. I’m afraid this is much deeper than we thought.”

“Then stopping Gul’dan is not enough?”

“No. Things are going to get worse before they get better.”

“What are you saying?”

She was looking at him with all the confusion she felt, not understanding what he was implying.

“Taria,” he said softly, reaching for her. She raised a hand to stop him, eyes sharp. He sighed. “I will be leading my men into battle,” he told her.

She tightened her brow. “Yes. That is indeed your duty.”

Llane sighed in frustration. “Taria, I am making you leader of the Humans because tomorrow I will die.”

She took a step back. Shock expressed itself in every line of her face. Llane closed his fist tightly, resisting the grief that came over him at Taria’s stricken expression.

“Llane, what are you doing?”

“I talked to Moroes. It’s done. I am no longer leader, you are. And tomorrow, I will lead our men into battle and challenge their champion.”

Thoughts rushed in Taria’s head. The rule was if the leader of one faction died, the other won. It was like in a game of chess, take out the king and you win. It was the reason why leaders only charged into battle on the final day where every able soldiers met on the battlefield. Rarely was it invoked, but there existed a rule common to all LARP that enabled the leader of a faction to appoint another player as leader. This decision was not to be made lightly as it was irrevocable. But this decision only worked if it remained a secret between the former leader and the new one. It was considered last resort for a losing leader.

“You can’t be serious,” she said.

But Llane simply stared at her. Taria tried to think of something to say but she knew there was nothing more she could do now. She was angry at him for having done this behind her back but also realized she would never have accepted if he had given her the choice.

Defeated, she asked: “And what should I do if you fall?”

“What you think is right.”

With these words, he kissed her, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. Taria could feel the cold fingers of fate wrapping around her throat as everything seemed to escape her grasp. She pushed at Llane’s chest, staring into his eyes. She adored the way he trusted her with everything he had built but she wished he could have shown it any different way. She intertwined their fingers together, squeezing his hand reassuringly. It was time to go out and talk to the troops.

Hands woven tightly together, they left the tent, putting on a confident front. The soldiers did not deserve to know of their leaders’ fears. They had all gathered at the center of camp. Taria let Llane’s hand go as he stepped onto the pedestal. The crowd quieted, waiting for Llane to start talking. He took a deep breath, casting a long look on each and every one of his troops. Then, he spoke.

“Soldiers of Azeroth!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Faintly, in the distance: _raise your eyes to the skies and observe!_
> 
> As always, reviews are greatly appreciated :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at last! I am SO sorry about this long silence. I hope you'll enjoy this new chapter (:  
> Please leave a comment to let me know!
> 
> EDIT [as of 01/20/2018]  
> This story is on hold until i'm done with another project. i want to finish writing all the chapters before I start posting again, so this might take a while. I am sorry if you've been waiting for an update. This story is NOT abandoned, I promise I will finish it in due time. Thank you for reading and keeping up with me until now.

“Shata’lia!”

If magic was real, and Khadgar wield it, most of the trees surrounding him would have been burnt to ashes by the time Lothar found him. As it was, he was simply standing in the clearing, shouting spells over spells and gesturing wildly towards branches and trunks, willing them to burn with his mind. Lothar stood a few meters away, hidden from him by the leaves. He stared at the young man for long minutes, watching as he performed controlled movements that seemed too precise. Lothar wondered if Khadgar had ever received martial arts training. For some reason, he did not doubt it for a second, watching as Khadgar suddenly dropped any pretense of magic wielding and began hitting the air with fists and feet in rapid succession, never quite reaching the tree but always precisely stopping before he hurt himself.

Lothar thought that his technique was as good as any to relax even if he would always prefer a sword and a dummy to send to the ground. When Khadgar carried out a perfectly executed backflip and landed on his feet, breathing hard and loud, Lothar decided to step in.

“Khadgar-“

His hand shot up to stop the arm aiming for his chest. Khadgar looks at him with surprise, mouth open slightly to let air into his aching lungs. He had swiveled violently at the sound of his voice, instinct kicking in to protect himself. 

“Hey, it’s just me.”

Khadgar frowned, turning away with a light huff. He began stretching, not bothering to answer him. 

“Are you angry at me?”

He came to a stop. Lothar could only stare at his still back, one arm stretched out behind his head and muscles straining.

“I stormed out on you,” Khadgar said. “Whatever made you think I was angry?”

Lothar sighed and leaned against a tree. He liked the boy for how he never treated Lothar any other than as an equal, answering him in the like and resisting. But this was getting ridiculous.

“With the informations that we had,” Lothar started to say. He couldn’t finish his sentence however, as Khadgar turned around and stared at him with eyes blazing so fiercely the rest of the sentence got swallowed up in his throat.

“I gave you the information that explained Medivh’s disappearance. You chose not to believe me. So what, has Llane confirmed it now?” He sneered. “I get it, you know. You’ve known Llane for years and played with him for almost as long, right? You should trust him more. But you see, I thought we had bonded during the last few days. Turns out I don’t mean shit to you. You won’t listen to me.”

Lothar gaped at him. The words sounded hurt and true in Lothar’s ears, steering at his chest like a siren’s call.

“But you know what?” Khadgar kept on talking, “I also get it. You couldn’t trust me on this cause you know Medivh more than I, you know Gul’dan and I don’t. And that’s just the way things are! And anyway, now you know! Now you believe it! Thank god for Llane and Moroes, isn’t that right.”

Khadgar had started angrily pacing the clearing now, staring at his feet as he stomped down weeds and flowers under his boots.

“So I shouldn’t be angry. And we shouldn’t be having this conversation because Medivh is somewhere,” his voice rose at the same time as his hands as he said this, “and he needs our help, which we can’t give him if we’re fighting!”

Silence fell over the clearing. Lothar waited a few seconds to see if Khadgar would try and say anything else before pushing himself forward. He slowly made his way towards Khadgar, stopping at arm’s reach. Khadgar was staring at him, looking tired and all of his previous anger gone.

“I’m sorry,” said Lothar. “You were right. Medivh is held in the Orcs’ camp. We have orders to go save him.”

He laid his hands on Khadgar’s shoulder, unsurprised when he gave immediately, head coming to rest against his shoulder. Lothar’s arms embraced Khadgar’s back, holding him in place for a minute. Khadgar’s voice was muffled against his leather-clad shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

Lothar chuckled. “It’s alright. Just don’t do it again,” he added in a mock serious voice.

Khadgar’s laugh sounded closer to a hiccup but when he straightened back up, he was smiling. Lothar felt his chest expand at the sight and thought he could get used to it.

“Are we good?” he asked.

“Yeah,” nodded Khadgar. “Let’s go save our Guardian.”

Without thinking, Lothar extended a hand. There was a second where Khadgar just looked at it, long enough for Lothar to realize his action and begin to regret it. But Khadgar grabbed his hand, squeezing once with a small smile before they took off.

The walk back to camp was quiet. Anduin kept glancing at Khadgar, averting his eyes almost immediately but the young man was too far lost in thought to notice. His brow was pinched, features tightened by the intensity of his thinking, showing in his thoughtful eyes. He kept his gaze forward as he walked, as if focusing on where he stepped. Watching him, Anduin could imagine seeing the gears working inside his brain, although he was at a loss what could possibly be keeping Khadgar’s focus so deeply. 

In seeing the man in such intense thinking, Anduin came to the realization that, what might have seemed as annoying to him just a few days ago, was now everything he found endearing about the man. He found himself examining Khadgar, imagining himself smoothing the crease in his brow with his fingertips, delicately removing the strand of hair that fell stubbornly over his eyes. His hair looked so soft, Anduin wanted nothing more but to run his fingers through it. 

He trailed his eyes like he would his lips if given the chance down Khadgar’s face. He mouthed words as he thought them, chapped lips from the sun and the wind rounding on silent vowels. His nose twitched with every sudden intake of breath, as if he somehow forgot to breathe and remembered just in time.

His fingers tightened around Anduin’s, sending electroshocks up his arm. The mighty commander realized he had stopped walking, lost in his contemplation, right as Khadgar snapped him out of it, staring at him with wide, curious, beautiful eyes.

“Lothar?” he said. “Are you alright?”

Anduin shook his head to clear his mind, the weight of Khadgar’s hand in his suddenly unbearable so he dropped it. Khadgar looked mildly concerned at the action, but simply let his hand fall back to his side. He bore a slight curve to his mouth, not exactly a smile, and Anduin felt at this moment his heart need for the man in front of him.

“Khadgar,” he started.

At the same moment, he heard both their names be called from inside the camp. He swiveled towards the voice and saw Karos standing there.

“Llane needs you, quickly,” was what he simply said.

Lothar nodded, already starting to follow as Karos walked away. Khadgar grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Wait, what were you going to say?”

Lothar turned to face him, staring into Khadgar’s far too open and true gaze. Lothar chuckled lightly and ruffled his hair, feeling a pang of guilt at how he loved how Khadgar squirmed and yelped at the action.

“Nothing,” he said. “It was nothing.”

Khadgar raised his head, surprise clear on his face before he nodded and let go of Lothar’s arm. The older man allowed himself a few seconds to get his bearing before walking off, this time in the direction of Llane’s tent. When they reached the center of camp, the crowd was just only breaking off. Llane must have just finished his speech and had left the soldiers sharing nervous whispers which got considerably quieter as Lothar and Khadgar made their way through. By the time they reached the tent, Lothar had grown sour, a frown deeply set on his face.

He forcefully set aside the fold at the entrance without bothering to hold it open for Khadgar who entered in a significantly more composed manner. Lothar’s burst had had the merit of drawing the attention to their arrival, made clear by the way every gaze trained on the both of them. Khadgar squirmed, made uneasy by the attention and the grim atmosphere plaguing the tent. Even Varis and Karos, despite their legendary discretion, looked painfully awkward.

“OK?” Llane asked, more as a way to reassure himself than to actually make sure everyone was alright. “Then let’s begin.”

He directed his attention towards the board table where the map was. On it were positioned several little pawns, blue for the Humans and red for the Orcs. They were the result of the scouts’ mission reports of where the Orcs had been encountered or seen, meant to establish their own scouting strategy. Other important spots were symbolized as small tents, the Orcs and Humans encampment and the Healer’s tent, near the entrance of the ground. This map had been available online to anyone wanting to consult it prior to the game yet to see it laid on a table with actual pawns on it gave off an impressive feeling of immersion. 

“Reaching the Orcs camp will be no small feat. We’ve observed the movements of the Orcs patrol as best we could in the last two days, but it goes without saying you might still encounter some rogue ones on the way. We’ve set out the best possible itinerary for you.”

Llane traced his finger along a red line that winded all over the map, mostly going through the forest in the South, stepping around little red pawns. 

“You will leave before dawn. No one is to see you,” Llane insisted, hands flat on the table, eyes boring into Khadgar and Lothar’s skulls. “The key to the success of your mission is complete mystery.”

Lothar’s eyebrows flinched. “You think we have a traitor?”

Llane frowned. “I know we have.”

Silence followed. Lothar had thought about it, as soon as it had become clear to him Medivh had been set up and captured. If not him, then someone must have tipped off the Orcs as to where the meeting was taking place. Llane had made a public announcement the day before. They had been infiltrated.

***

Gul’dan was staring off into the distance, eyes strained on the slight blur on the horizon indicating the human camp. Thoughts stormed in his head as he stood upright, unmoving, at the edge of the encampment. Fellow Orc players glanced occasionally at his figure turning his back to them but none dared approach him. Their relationship with him had never evolved from one of a leader and his followers. To them, he was perhaps lonely but had made clear, on the very first day, what his goal was. The Orcs were to succeed in winning this game and it did not matter how. That precision had raised more than a few eyebrows but had also received some enthusiastic response. Mostly, it got the message across that they were to obey him and not ask questions.

From a distance, Blackhand watched him. None could pretend to know Gul’dan as he had been completely absent from the gaming community since he was banned that time. No one knew how, exactly, he had managed to strike the leader’s role with that history following him. Even in his own group, most had never heard of him before this game and the first information they had received about him was how he had recently been reaccepted into Azeroth’s ranks. The Horde was second only to the Stormwind’s Army in terms of number of members and number of wins of all of Azeroth LARPing community. Most referred to these two groups as rivals when actually, few cared about rivalry. Blackhand was one of those few.

What he had understood about Gul’dan, in the short time he knew him, was that his hatred towards Stormwind was unprecedented. Blackhand respected and admired that about him, and as soon as he had understood it, he had given Gul’dan his utter and complete trust as leader. Asserting himself as his right hand had not taken long either. Yet, Gul’dan remained a mystery to him, and one he was not sure he wanted to break.

Gul’dan was evil. Blackhand was an expert in playing evil, but he suspected Gul’dan was not playing a role here. Whatever his history with Stormwind was, it had left him with a deep and controlled anger which allowed him to be cold and calculating. Gul’dan inscribed himself in a scheme which purposefully escaped him while at the same time keeping a master hand on things. Blackhand had welcomed the evil in him but he never ever wanted to know more than necessary about the man. As soon as this game was over and the Orcs have won, Gul’dan will have whatever he wanted, and everyone would go home. Blackhand would never hear from him again for good. As the days went by on the morass, he found himself looking forward to it ever more. 

However, he could not pretend not to have enjoyed this game, perhaps more than he should have. With a tiny shiver, he remembered the feeling of the young man’s throat in his hand, how he had squeezed just so, the carotid artery jumping erratically just under his thumb. He had felt a thrill at the thought he just had to squeeze a little bit harder and life would leave his body messily, shakily. He knew he had hurt the boy; had meant to. Yet even now, Blackhand felt nauseous at the excitement that had filled him at the pure power of holding one’s life in your hands, literally.

With a scowl, he dragged his gaze away from Gul’dan and towards the gathered Orcs. The day was young and they all shuffled around the bonfire they had lit, trying to dispel the cold. From what he overheard of their conversation, they were recounting the events of yesterday. Observing the faces, Blackhand indeed recognized those who were at the pass yesterday. He watched as they laughed loudly as they told of the terrified faces of the Human soldiers and the Orcs traitors as they realized they had been ambushed. The answering laughs of their listeners rang in Blackhand’s ears, dissonant like steel heating steel. It only contributed to his bad mood. He got up and walked towards the group.

“Don’t you all have anything better to do than gossip,” he dropped, eyes throwing daggers.

Uncomfortable swallows and mumbled excuses and “yes sirs” followed as they all went their separate ways. If any of them simply relocated to continue their conversation was none of Blackhand’s business as long as he didn’t have to suffer hearing them anymore.

Almost against him, his gaze shifted towards where Gul’dan stood again. A cold shiver ran down his back when he noticed the sorcerer staring right in his direction. How he could stand so still and with his back so straight was a mystery that only added to the fear he suddenly instilled in Blackhand. Oh, he could not wait for all this to be over.

With the intention to get as much distance as possible between him and Gul’dan, Blackhand went on a tour of the camp to supervise the soldiers’ activity. Everyone was bustling about, the excitement tangible as tomorrow grew nearer. Blackhand was in a more subdued mood. He could not say he was nervous, because there was no point in feeling nervousness when playing a game, but as he was only looking forward to tomorrow so it could finally end, he could not quite muster the level of excitement his peers were showing.

As he walked, he saw many smiles and hear many laughs as the players exchanged their thoughts about how tomorrow would go. They seemed confident, which was a good thing. Blackhand had once had to lead a group of forty demotivated people and he was in no hurry to repeat the experience. However, he could not join his soldiers in their faith in victory. The way this game was being played, he was weary of whatever other surprises it would hold in the next thirty-six hours. Although they had stopped the mutiny before it had even really started, Blackhand was no fool to believe the Humans would just let things be. He expected any and all from them. 

The fact he could not bring himself to trust Gul’dan completely also upset him. He accepted, even relished, in the fact Gul’dan had not tried to be closer to him than strictly necessary but he would like to have a little more heads up from him. He had absolutely no idea what Gul’dan’s plan was, apart from a mysterious “You’ll see” he had received the one time he had gotten to asking him. To say he was being kept in the dark was no exaggeration and Gul’dan simply asked that he trust him without ever having given a good reason why he should. The only reason why Blackhand still stood by him was he had actually relied on him as a second for most of the game. But Blackhand was aware enough to admit he felt dismissed.

The feeling of being caught in the middle was not a new one. Almost as soon as he had stepped into the Black Morass ground, he had felt it, like this had nothing to do with him and everything to do with something he was not privy of and never would be. Blackhand wasn’t curious by nature but he had his pride and he did not appreciate when things happened right before him without him having the capacity to understand them. The incident at the pass had been yet another example in which he had felt his control over things slowly slipping out of hand. They had come too close to not ever hearing some Orcs had betrayed them to plot with the Humans for Blackhand to feel completely serene now they had stopped them.

His round of the camp brought him near the barracks where the prisoners had been sat and told not to move. They couldn’t actually bind them but that had never been a problem in the previous games Blackhand took part in, although he had never had to restrain members of his own team. He still had trouble understanding what had led Durotan, and with him Draka, Orgrim and the others, to betray them. Orgrim had tried to appeal to him, once Gul’dan had been out of earshot but Blackhand had dismissed him. He had always found begging to be unbecoming of anyone who had any self-respect. With a disdainful look, Blackhand turned away from the group of traitors and returned to report to Gul’dan.

He was not standing on the overlooking cliff anymore. He was not in the leader’s tent either, Backhand only having had to spare a glance inside to assess his absence. He assumed he had retreated to his tent, which was quickly confirmed by interrogating a passing player. He noticed offhandedly how the player started and stared at him with wide terrified eyes but decided not to read too much into it. He probably didn’t expect anyone to call out to him. Having attested of Gul’dan’s whereabouts, he wondered whether to go see him in his tent, which would certainly disturb him, or wait until he reappeared. Considering the day was dragging on and the great battle growing ever nearer and their leader had yet to give a motivational speech to the troops, Blackhand decided to go.

Gul’dan had made the personal choice to set up his tent slightly outside of camp, away from the others. Blackhand crossed the short way towards the tent. He walked around the tent to reach the entrance but stopped right before he reached it. There were voices inside. Gul’dan talked to himself was not so unthinkable but he was positive he could hear multiple voices discussing. Despite his mind screaming at him to let it go and walk away, Blackhand hovered near the tent, straining to make out what they were saying.

Gul’dan was hissing, sounding angry and frustrated. Whoever was in the tent with him, they were getting on his nerves. He seemed a second away from snapping and starting to scream. Given the way his voice wavered, he was pacing while the other’s voice was poised and calm, a stark contrast. 

“What is it you are trying to accomplish here?”

With a start, Blackhand recognized the voice as Medivh’s.

“Accomplish? What is it to you?”

Gul’dan was clearly on the defensive. The conversation must have started around the time Blackhand had left for his round around camp, about twenty minutes from now. Blackhand wondered how long Medivh had been here. He had not heard Gul’dan speak a word of his presence. Had he been waiting for Gul’dan in his tent? Did he somehow sneak into their camp without anyone noticing? It was entirely possible, but if so, what had brought him here? What could Medivh possibly want to them?

“Considering the fact I’m currently tied to a chair in your tent, I would say it is everything to me.”

Although Medivh did everything to remain calm, a hint of exasperation seeped into his words. Blackhand’s brow furrowed at the words- _tied?_

“So what is it?” Medivh kept on saying. “Or is it just against me, a sort of personal, petty revenge that you decided to abduct me and break literal, real world laws just for the fun of it?”

Distantly, Blackhand wondered when Gul’dan had managed to snatch Medivh, and thus how long he had been here, tied to a chair as he had said. The last he had heard of Medivh was at the pass yesterday when he had raised his shield which had allowed the Humans to flee. Had Medivh really been in the tent all night long? It seemed preposterous to Blackhand although he hesitated in dismissing the idea so quickly with what he was hearing.

His train of thought was interrupted as Gul’dan burst into a laugh that dissolved in an ugly coughing fit and rales. There was silence and then:

“What has happened to you, old friend?” asked Medivh.

“You left me!” Gul’dan roared. Blackhand’s eyes widened at the sound. He had never heard such a sound from anyone. It was a desperate and heartbreaking cry. A deep uncomfortable silence followed, only broken by the sound of heavy breathing.

“I had given it all up for you,” Gul’dan hissed. “I had betrayed and would have betrayed again. I was disgraced, dishonored, cast out. Yet it was okay; because you were here. Because you had promised. And yet,” his voice turns cold, and a shiver runs down Blackhand’s spine. For the first time since he began eavesdropping, he feels out of place, like this conversation was not meant for anyone’s ears except Gul’dan and Medivh’s. “Yet, you turned your back on me. You went back to your friends, leaving me behind without a word, without anything! I hate you!”

“So this all a vengeance?” Medivh suddenly spoke up. “Against me? Against us?”

Gul’dan did not answer, yet his silence seemed to speak for itself.

“How pathetic,” Medivh sneered. “You would bring a hundred more people into a thing that happened so long ago, you are the only one left that gives a shit about it. You would betray again, bring not only shame but justice down on you so you could, what, _hurt_ me? Hurt me like I hurt you? But don’t you understand yet, you’ll never hurt me like that because for that, I’d have to give a damn about you. And as it seems to have escaped you, I don’t-“

A resounding sound suddenly interrupted him, a loud slap which made Blackhand wince by the sheer force of it. Medivh snickered then, a small, insolent sound that hid the pain in his cheek. His laugh was cut off, and all that could be heard was an intake of breath, a muffled protest and the vague sound of struggling. Blackhand remained motionless, trying to make out what was happening in the tent.

Eventually, a great intake of breath broke the silence, followed by the distinctive sound of someone spitting.

“I have never wanted to feel your foul lips upon mine ever again.”

Blackhand reeled. His mind was racing with the realization. He felt a rush of blood at the fact he had been eavesdropping on the conversation, not of two enemies, not two friends, but two lovers since the start. Looking back, there had been hints but he had refused to interpret them for what they were. The truth seemed simply too ludicrous: he, along with all the other players, were unknowingly playing out the personal revenge of a betrayed man against his lover.

Gul’dan scoffed, almost softly. “Then you shan’t.”

There was a sense of tragic finality in his words and Blackhand took them as his cue to leave. He was not swift enough, however, as Gul’dan exited the tent, slamming the flap shut behind him, eyes glistening wild with a terrible fire. He stopped short when he saw Blackhand standing awkwardly to the side, with the expression of a deer caught in head lights. There was a mixture of despair and fury which twisted Gul’dan’s face until he moved past Blackhand and away from him, towards the wide empty rocks at the North of the ground. 

He did not breathe a word to him yet Blackhand was left feeling like all of the world’s scorn had been hurled at him. He shook himself from his stupor and turned to see Gul’dan’s figure disappear amongst the rising rocks. Looking back, Blackhand laid a wondering glare on the tent, thinking of the conversation he had just been privy of, of Medivh, and of tomorrow.

He stayed there unmoving for long minutes before retreating to the camp, leaving Medivh to whatever fate Gul’dan had planned for him. 

 

***

It was almost time. Khadgar laid on his bed, eyes open. He had not been able to close them ever since he had retreated to his tent, not even bothering to remove his boots, knowing he would have to leave in only a few hours. Donovan had entered at one point, sent him a curious glare, before disappearing under his blanket. Soon after, snores filled the small space, eliminating any hope Khadgar had of sleeping tonight.

He stared at the ceiling, not seeing it but guessing its shape through the darkness. Thoughts swirled in his head like smoke towards a roof. He thought of today, and what tomorrow would bring. He knew Taria had gone to see Garona and explain to her the plan they had construed together. This plan relied so clearly on dumb luck that Khadgar could not help but think it stupid. Yet, he had no idea how things could have gone different. He knew they had to save Medivh, as it would also save the whole of the Humans and ensure their victory. Yet he felt as though they would be walking right into the enemy’s open arms, ready to be killed off and Gul’dan to accomplish what he came here to do: have revenge.

Khadgar thought back on what Lothar had revealed to him: that many years ago, they had been Gul’dan’s allies yet he had betrayed them, bringing Medivh down with him. As much as it made sense, Khadgar had trouble reconciling the idea he had of the Stormwinds before he met them with all that he had learned about them this week. While he regretted to see his heroes fall from the divine pedestal he had put them on, he also relished in discovering how human they all were. They were humans, prone to make mistakes, and who felt sadness, anger, but also joy and love.

It filled Khadgar with an intense feeling of longing and warmth. He had spent so many years of his life feeling out of place, with anger bubbling just under his skin. He had not been able to focus on anything, studying just the bare minimum to get out of school and into university the quickest so teachers and the like would finally leave him alone. He had felt such intense scorn at all of those who had shown care and compassion to him, always hiding their pity behind kind gestures and condescending phrases. For a long time, Khadgar had refused to associate with the kind of people who would see an orphan boy as a desperate creature in need instead of treating him like no other.

Majority had come as a relief, and Khadgar had reveled in this feeling of freedom until loneliness creeped up on him. The first year of college had been hard, made harder by the fact despite the state allowance he still had to work part-time in order to get by, juggling between work and his studies. He even considered dropping out at one point but had held on, because even with how hellish high school had been, studying had become his escape. The study of literature, especially, had fascinated him. Khadgar knew that, whatever happened, he needed this in his life.

But he also knew that what really saved him was stumbling, quite randomly, on the Stormwind Army’s facebook page. He had been researching an author from the Middle Ages, Chrétien de Troyes, and one of the web page featured a photo of one of the Army’s costume, citing it as a historically accurate 12th century armor. The man wearing the armor had been Anduin Lothar. Upon discovering they also, and primarily, dwelled in live-action roleplaying, Khadgar had taken a new found interest in the game. And now here he was, two years after, and significantly happier and more grounded than he had ever felt.

It scared him. He was afraid to call Garona, who he had seen a few times in class, a friend, or to admit how admiring he was of Llane, or Taria, how he looked up to Medivh as he, too, understood the great appeal of magic in a LARP setting. He did not even let himself finish his thought about Lothar, the man he had, despite himself, let become so close and dear to him. He was afraid to admit to himself that he belonged in this group, that he felt safe, that he felt like it was family. He did not know what family was, and had managed to convince himself for almost all of his life that he did not want to know. Yet, tonight, lying in the dark, he couldn’t help but think that he never wanted to feel so alone anymore now that he had felt loved.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter!  
> You get the last 2 chapters + the pilogue in one update. Hope you'll enjoy them :) We're reaching the end of this particular story, but it is not the end of Liontrust nor my writing for it.
> 
> But for now... let there be Larping ;)

Chapter 7

It was pitch black outside when Medivh was jerked awake. He did not know what had woken him up. He listened to the silence outside, lost and confused, trying to make out forms in the darkness. Suddenly, a bristle of clothes, and the flap was wrenched wide open, the slight glow of the stars illuminating a tall figure for a second. The dark returned. Medivh could only hear his own breathing, loud and ragged, and his heartbeat in his neck drowning out anything else. He barely felt the figure move, until a hand was on his mouth and the ties which held him to the chair came undone.

He was pulled upright, stumbling to his feet. He heard a frustrated huff of air and then a hand pushed him out. He blinked a few times, only making out the vague silhouette of trees against the night sky. There were millions of stars out and their brightness was akin to the one of the sun for Medivh. He turned around to face whoever had just freed him but was roughly pushed forward before he could see their face. 

Was this his deliverance? Was he being saved? He thought of yesterday, when Gul’dan had had his outburst against, and hoped that this person had heard them and decided to do something. To save him. Holding on that glimmer of hope, Medivh walked on. Whenever he faltered, the hand came again to push at his back. It seemed his rescuer was in a hurry: he could hear them anxiously looking back at the camp they had just left.

He had had no time to grab his coat before leaving the tent and he felt the sharp coldness of the night. He was shivering violently. Out of a sudden, he heard a sigh being him and the sound of fabric slipping before he felt a warm weight fall on his shoulders. He tightened his grasp on the fuzzy fabric, wrapping himself in the fur.

Not a word was spoken.

Medivh did not know where they were going, could not even tell whether they were walking north or south. Had he looked up and studied the stars, he would have recognized the North Star shining brightly right in front of him. But he was focused on where he was stepping, careful not to trip on the rocky floor.

It seemed to him they walked for hours, until the sky turned pink, blurring out the stars. He did not think to glance behind him even once until they reached a high rock dominating the ground and he heard a gruff voice behind him.

“Sit.”

He did as told, bewildered and still very confused about what was happening. He turned and saw his savior’s face for the first time. With a start, he recognized him as Blackhand. A shot of fear and anger ran through him as he remembered how he had held Callan up by the throat, Anduin’s scream echoing through his head like a dark reminder. He sat, staring in shock at the grey rocks underneath him.

Was Blackhand saving him? Did he turn on Gul’dan? A hundred questions swam in Medivh’s mind yet he dared not speak any. The temperature rose slowly and Medivh realized he was still wearing the fur coat. He wondered if he should offer it back. Blackhand stood unwavering a few feet away, facing away from him. He had freed him, had handed him his coat to keep away from the cold, only to bring him here, in this desolate desert of rocks and dead weeds. Now, he seemed to be waiting for something. For what? Medivh wondered.

In the distance, smoke rose from both the Human and Orc camps. Medivh felt a pang of loneliness at the sight, and despite himself, tightened his grasp on the coat.

***

They walked silently through the morass, each of them focused on their step and lost in their own thoughts. Lothar came first, leading the rest through the dark night. There were many clouds, obscuring the stars, and he only hoped it would not rain. Behind him walked Garona. The night before, when she had been visited by Taria, the Queen had lent her a Stormwind plastron along with a dagger. She held the weapon close to her armor-clad chest, thinking back on what the Queen had told her.

She had come late at night, when most the camp was asleep. The plan’s secrecy was to be kept at all cost which meant fewer people knew Taria had visited the prisoner, the better, especially when the soldiers awoke the next morning to find the Orc gone along with Lothar and three other players. Garona had not been expecting her, she was staring at the ceiling of the barracks, lost in thought when the door had slid open. Afraid, Garona jumped to her feet and immobilized the Human in an arm lock. When she heard Taria’s impressed chuckle and recognized her tan skin and curled hair, Garona apologized profusely, flustered.

Taria was extremely kind in reassuring her the act only furthered her admiration for her and did not change anything to how she perceived her. Garona accepted the compliment with a flush. Taria turned grave suddenly, however, and Garona asked what she was doing here.

“We have been infiltrated,” started Taria. “We do not yet know the identity of the spy, but the events at Blackrock along with Medivh’s abduction is even proof that he exists, and has been reporting to the Orcs.”

“Medivh’s abduction?” inquired Garona.

“Yes. Gul’dan has kidnapped Medivh in order to perform the spell you told us about. Khadgar figured it out. It is all explained in the ground’s lore. The point is, Medivh is currently held in the Orcs camp. You are the only one to have any knowledge of its layout in whom we have a complete trust.”

Garona stared at her in shock, just learning about the depth of Gul’dan’s plan and Medivh’s unwilling involvement. Somehow, it did not surprise her at all that Gul’dan could be capable of such a thing.

“We have to save Medivh,” she said.

“Indeed. And that’s why we need you.”

With these words, Taria presented her with the dagger. It was a precisely sculpted and painted weapon, which looked terribly real. It had been incrusted with jewels all over the shaft. Garona stared in awe then shot an inquisitive glare towards Taria.

“To protect yourself,” the Lady said.

Garona smiled, “with this?”

Taria only acknowledged the remark with a half-smile, before she became serious again.

“Garona, I need you to know…” She faltered, only continuing after Garona nudged her slightly. “If worst comes to worst, we want you to take Llane’s life.”

Garona stammered trying to object.

“No! No, don’t protest. We have talked long with Llane and we have come to the conclusion we would rather give you this honor than vile characters like those of Gul’dan or Blackhand.”

“But it would mean you would have lost!” she exclaimed.

She did not miss the sad smile on Taria’s face. “Oh…,” she said. “Trust me.”

She exited the tent, leaving Garona with the armor and weapon, at a loss, and mind reeling. Now, hours afterwards, Garona played their conversation over and over in her head. Killing the leader meant claiming victory: what were Llane and Taria trying to accomplish by asking that of her? Trying to imagine herself in the situation in which she would not have a choice, Garona doubted she would even dare to follow through. She could not think herself capable of killing Llane, a man who had given her his complete and utter trust without a second of hesitation when she had come to him, speaking of betrayal when betraying herself. She held too much respect for him, and Taria, Lothar, and Medivh. She simply could not.

Thoughts storming in her mind, she did not notice the concerned gaze Khadgar laid on her. He had noticed her turmoil yet he could not guess what caused it. He imagined it was only nervousness, as the whole plan relied on her shoulder: she would be the one to guide them through the camp so as not to get caught and Medivh to be saved. But if they all got captured, then all of this would have been for nothing and they would be doomed. Garona had more to lose than any of them however: she was a traitor and should Gul’dan win, she would without a doubt get banned from the community. 

Karos and Varis walked behind him, both of them charged with surveying their rear to prevent any surprise Orc encounter. The whole party was silent and more than a little gloomy. They all knew what their role was in bringing success to the Humans. Not only did victory depend on it, but their reputations also. On the off chance that they were discovered and their plan foiled, they would all be ranked cheaters. LARPing rules were more or less that of real life. You were only ever forbidden of doing something if you were found out. Right now, the thought of being called cheaters was more than enough to create turmoil in them.

They could not fail. More than their own personal reputation, it was that of Stormwind which was threatened. They had worked so hard for the past twelve years to make everyone forget about Medivh’s downfall, and they had succeeded. Should they fail today, the LARPing community would not hesitate for an instant to bring back all that disgrace and shame. Without a doubt, Stormwind, despite being the number one group in Azeroth’s community of LARPers, would be ostracized and unofficially banned—no one would ever accept them on their ground ever again.

That was the thought which made Lothar’s step so heavy, as he walked through the morass with his atypical party. A rogue Orc, a mage newbie, two of his most trusted advisors, all of them trusted to bring victory to the whole of Stormwind… or marching to their death. There would be no in-between. Lothar hated the responsibility that put on his shoulders. With each step, came a spike of anger which he was having trouble making sense of. Despite all that Khadgar had told him, Lothar had not totally been able to drop his suspicions about Medivh. Perhaps because there was too much at stake, but Lothar could not bring himself to believe Medivh had not betrayed them once again, the sole name of his former partner, Gul’dan, enough to draw him right back in. It was a very real possibility that he did not have the luxury of ignoring.

Their mood only darkened when they caught sight of the Orcs encampment. From where they stood, hidden still at the forest’s edge, they could see red figures walking through the camp. Guards, it seemed, stationed there to prevent exactly what Lothar and his party were planning to do: break in. The five of them exchanged weighted looks and fell to the ground, the tall grass surrounding them perfect for them to be hidden from sight as they crawled closer and closer to the Orcs camp.

A sudden and loud clatter of voices had all of them jump out of their skin, panic and alarm enlightening under the skin. They had been found out, that was it, what could they do now? They were doomed.

Khadgar’s brow furrowed. He gestured to the four others, telling them to stay put and silent. Slowly, he backed away, careful not to be seen from the camp, and retreated back into the forest. Lothar stared dumbfounded at him. He waited for a grand total of three seconds before following him back into the forest.

Left alone, Garona, Karos and Varis exchanged wary glances. They did not know what Khadgar had heard that made him go the way they could hear the voices. Determination made itself clear in each three of their gazes and they too followed.

They had expected a lot, but never could they have expected to see two young people wearing deep blue tabards. The color alone was surprising, even more so when one of these two was wearing the Stormwind’s armor, while the other was a tall Black woman in total leather gear and holding a fake knife to the soldier’s throat.

“What the fuck?” Lothar’s voice came out in a hard whisper.

The two unknown players turned towards him, the soldier’s eyes widening even more at the sight of his Commander. The woman however glared fearlessly at Lothar, gesturing towards the man she held at her mercy.

“He was following you, Commander.”

Khadgar shook out of his stupor then. “Donavon? Aliyah?”

Lothar’s anger shifted towards him and Khadgar had to resist the shiver which threatened to run down his back under the intensity of Lothar’s gaze.

“What are you both doing here?”

“You know them?” Lothar’s voice rose to a dangerous level.

Karos stepped forward. “Commander, with all due respect, if we’re going to have this conversation, perhaps further away from the Orcs encampment would be best.”

They heeded his advice, and walked further into the forest. They were unsure of how deep they went, but one thing was sure: they were still in the Orcs’ zone, which meant they were still in danger. Time was of the essence. They still spoke in rushed whispers, wary of the night surrounding them.

“In the fewest words possible, explain what you’re doing here,” Lothar told the two.

Donavon was still shivering from sheer terror. He was absolutely unable to speak. Aliyah rolled her eyes and started speaking.

“I noticed him sneaking out of his tent in the middle of the night. I thought he was planning something shifty so I decided to follow him. I only now realized that he was actually following you in turn. Knowing you, Commander, I knew you were doing something important, even more so because we weren’t made aware of it. Secrecy is key to your mission, and I respect it but Donavon here could have put all of it in jeopardy. I decided to stop him before it was too late. I’m sorry about the noise we made. I only wanted to put some sense into him and bring him back to the camp.”

Lothar pinched the bridge of his nose, heaving an exasperated sigh. 

“I remember you,” he told Donavon. “What were you trying to accomplish, following us?”

Donavon stammered. “I- I noticed Khadgar here going out and, well, _I_ thought that was shifty especially cause, he’s been acting weird all week. I swear, Commander, if I had known he was with you, I never would’ve followed him but I thought he might be the spy and I thought, I can’t let him do this!”

“Yeah, right!” Aliyah interrupted him. “As if you’re not the spy!”

“What?” Donavon hissed.

“Quiet!” Lothar snapped. The crease on his brow was getting deeper and deeper. “How do you two even know we have a spy?”

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Donavon said. He seemed to have regained some of his bravado, voice more poised. “How else could we have been ambushed at the pass?”

“You were at the pass?” It was Varis who had spoken up.

“No, but after Khadgar came back and refused to tell me what had happened, I talked with some other soldiers who filled me in. They were saying the Orcs had set up a trap for us, but I know what I heard when I was in the barracks. This woman,” he gestured at Garona, “she’s on our side.”

There was a shocked silence.

“I thought you couldn’t hear anything!” Khadgar spluttered.

“I might have lied,” Donavon looked awfully pleased with himself and Khadgar wanted to punch him in the face.

“Okay, enough,” Lothar suddenly said. “Enough of this joke.”

They all turned to him, rendered silent with the fury which laced his words.

“This isn’t a goddamn playground,” he seethed. “Sit. All of you, down, now!”

They did as they were told, even Varis and Karos, face carefully guarded. Khadgar sent a glance towards Garona but her whole attention was on Lothar, who had stayed standing. 

“I don’t care who you are or what you’re doing here. I care that you almost ruined the work of the whole past week. We can’t send you back to the camp. If anyone sees you and asks questions, we’re done. So I guess no further harm will be done if we fill you in on everything that’s going on here.”

Khadgar gasped. “No way!”

Lothar crooked an eyebrow. “An objection?”

“We can’t trust Donavon! He’s a lying little shit.”

“Well, that’s mature,” Lothar seethed. Khadgar curled on himself, wanting to disappear under the weight of his gaze. Lothar’s eyes, however, turned kinder even as he glared at Khadgar, as if his anger could not hold against him. “Do we really have a choice, is the question.”

Khadgar figured not. He nodded silently, munching at his bottom lip.

Lothar turned towards Donavon and Aliyah, and started explaining the plan to them. Their eyes widened as it all began to make sense. When he had finished explaining all about Medivh getting abducted, Gul’dan’s spell to bring back the dead, and their own plan to save Medivh, Aliyah sat silently, in deep thought.

“Commander,” she eventually said. “I have reasons to believe I know who the spy is. At first I thought it was Donavon, but upon hearing he was in the barracks the night before the ambush, it could not have been him.”

Donavon whispered a low “Thank you” and Aliyah continued.

“But I heard some soldiers speaking last night. I think there is a mutiny among your ranks, Commander, and the spy is actually spies, plural. At least three of them, sir.”

“More than one spy…?” wondered Karis out loud. “But who? And why?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Aliyah told him.

“Karos, Varis, come with me,” Lothar ordered. They walked until the others could not hear them but still guess their shapes in the darkened woods.

Khadgar turned towards Aliyah.

“You’re Serena’s girlfriend, is that right?”

“Yes,” she said, visibly surprised. “I did wonder how you knew my name.”

“She pointed you out, the very first day, when the groups were made. I was in her group. She saved me when we were caught in a fight during a patrol,” he added, eyes burning a hole into Donavon, who pretended not to hear.

“I’m not surprised to hear,” Aliyah laughed, “Ren would take a bullet if it meant someone she cared about was safe.”

Khadgar smiled, remembering the cook with fondness. Lothar came back with his two advisors then, and they stood to attention.

“We’re too numerous now to even think of sneaking into the camp. They’d spot us immediately. We can’t leave you here, if you’re caught and questioned, I don’t think any of you would be able to keep silent. No offense,” he added in a low voice. “If anyone has a brilliant idea right about now, feel free to share it, because we’re stumped.”

There was a silent, until Donavon raised a tentative hand.

“Hm,” he said, “I might have something, sir.”

“Speak,” Lothar ordered.

“Well, what if we, that is if Aliyah’s alright with it, but what if we… caused a distraction?”

All the others squinted at him, unsure what he meant.

“What kind?” Varis asked cautiously.

“The kind that makes a lot of noise and attracts loads of attention so that you five can quietly sneak into camp unseen.”

“But that would be suicide.”

Donavon swallowed and nodded slowly.

“I’m in”, Aliyah said, turning to look at the three standing men.

They exchanged a look and a nod.

“You’re willing to sacrifice yourselves for the sake of your faction. Soldiers, may the Light be with you.”

Even though Donavon was obviously stifling his laughter, the moment felt solemn and serious. They watched Aliyah and Donavon go with worry etched on their features. They went back to the edge of the forest, dropping once again to the floor so they could begin to crawl. Soon enough, they lost sight of both of them.

When Khadgar turned towards Garona this time, she was looking directly at him, her dark eyes reflecting his own apprehension. They had lost a considerable amount of time, and dawn was starting to light the sky. They needed to act with extreme caution and speed.

They all jumped when the first noise resounded through the silence.

“Leo! Leo!”

The five that had stayed behind exchanged quizzical looks which quickly morphed into mortification as they realized the sounds were being made by Aliyah and Donavon. A low growl escaped Lothar’s throat and his grip in on his sword tightened as he resisted the urge to hit the tree trunk behind him repeatedly.

“Leo! Leo!”

Agitation could be seen starting to boil in the Orcs encampment as the sounds continued. Orcs came out of their tent as the guards started gathering together, staring at the open fields where they could hear the noises come from different places every few seconds.

“Leo!”

A bubbling laugh found its way up Khadgar’s throat and he slapped a hand on his mouth to stifle it.

“What the fuck do they think they’re doing?” Garona whispered next to him.

“Creating a distraction!” he whispered back, voice laced with mirth.

She looked aghast and Khadgar snickered.

When the Orcs started venturing out into the fields, weapons in hand, Lothar gestured silently and the five of them started crawling in the exact opposite direction the Orcs were now focused on.

When they reached the first tents, they stood up, filing behind a tent, Garona in front. They made their way silently through the camp, walking quickly from one tent to the other, wary of being seen. They had had a long conversation about where Medivh could be kept, and the barracks had been deemed the most probable place, so that was where they were headed. When they caught sight of the barracks, however, they stopped dead in their tracks.

“What the fuck?” Lothar whispered.

“I don’t know,” Garona answered, sounding appalled.

The barracks themselves weren’t much different from those in the Human’s camp except the flag on top of them were red instead of blue. But what had caused their astonishment was what surrounded them. Pickets had been planted firmly on the ground in straight lines. And against those pickets, wrists tightly bound and head lolling from the slumber they had fallen into… Orcs. More exactly, the Orcs that had been at the pass, willing to meet with the Humans in order to bring down Gul’dan.

“How could this have been tolerated?” Varis was baffled.

The five of them glanced around to check the Orcs were still quite busy figuring out the source of the puzzling “Leo! Leo!” they could still hear resonating. Quietly, they rushed at the Orcs side, all of them pulling out a small pocket knives and getting to work on cutting their bounds. Their arrival awoke the Orcs and they managed to have them keep silent. Once all eight Orcs had been freed, they gathered around Lothar and Durotan, standing facing each other.

“Thank you, Human,” Durotan said, his low voice as impressive the second time around as the first time they had heard it.

Lothar offered a hand and Durotan shook it. 

“You must go now,” Lothar said. “Hide in the forest until the battle is over.”

“No,” Durotan said politely, “we will not hide while our brothers fight. We will stand and join the battle.”

Lothar’s eyes widened in fear. “You will fight us?”

“No. We will fight with you.”

All of a sudden, Lothar understood what Durotan was telling him. Him and his Orcs would turn against Gul’dan and fight alongside the Humans.

“Varis,” Lothar called and the man stepped forward. “Bring these men back to the camp. Explain everything to Llane. He’ll understand.”

“Yes, sir.”

Khadgar had been looking around for a long while when he suddenly spoke, his voice tight with worry.

“Commander!” Lothar turned towards him. “There is no one in the barracks. Medivh is not here.”

Lothar’s face darkened. “Goddamn it,” he muttered.

“You are looking for the mage,” an Orc, slightly smaller than Durotan but what he lacked as height he made up with width, stepped forward. “I am Orgrim. I was awake earlier when I heard a noise coming from Gul’dan’s tent. I saw two shadows coming out. I recognized one as Blackhand.”

Lothar’s blood froze in his veins at the name.

“The other was your mage.”

“Where did they go?” Lothar heard Khadgar ask faintly.

“Up to the mountains,” Orgrim pointed toward the high plateau at the North of the ground. They overlooked the whole field, standing menacingly in the morning’s light.

Sudden shouts from the front of the camp made them all jump.

“We’ve got them! Filthy humans.”

Khadgar stared in alarm at Lothar, and his face was set in a determined scowl.

“Go,” he growled to Durotan and Varis. “Karos, go with them.”

“What about me?” Garona suddenly said.

Lothar turned towards her, expression unfathomable. “What do you prefer?”

“Sir, I would like to fight alongside my kin. Durotan is my warchief, much more than Gul’dan ever could have been.”

“Then so be it,” Lothar agreed.

Garona thanked him. Khadgar watched the retreating figures of the eight freed Orcs, Durotan among them, Varis and Karos, and finally Garona. Then, he turned towards Lothar.

His face was strangely shut, eyes darkened by an unknown gloom. Khadgar stepped closer, lying a hand on Lothar’s arms.

“Lothar,” he spoke quietly. “Are you okay?”

His eyes jumped to his and Khadgar was rendered speechless. It seemed all the careful barriers that the commander worked so hard to put up every day had come crumbling down suddenly, and Khadgar was left staring into the abyss of his opened soul. It was unsettling and Khadgar’s heart missed a beat.

“Yes,” Lothar whispered. His gaze wandered down Khadgar’s face, affixing itself on Khadgar’s lips. Khadgar swallowed. He resisted the urge to remind Lothar of where they were. He didn’t have to, however, because suddenly there was a shout, and they turned to see an orc watching them.

“Over here!”

They didn’t hesitate for a second, and started running like madmen towards the plateau. The space was completely open to the sight but it offered a few huge rocks which they hoped to hide behind. They heard multiple footsteps following them and Lothar cursed loudly. So much for discretion, he thought. All that he hoped now was that the Orc not decide to send more people after them than they could take care of.

Khadgar ducked behind a rock while Lothar kept running. He waited until the three Orcs following them had ran right past his rock, and when the last one appeared, Khadgar shouted.

“Shala’ros!”

There was a second of hesitation, the Orc hit by the spell momentarily hit by a lack of understanding of what exactly had just happened. But then, he launched himself to the side, plastering himself on an adjacent rock. Khadgar jumped behind him, his fake knife coming to plant itself right next to his enemy’s head.

One down, he congratulated himself. He started running after Lothar and the two remaining Orcs. The plateau rose dangerously quickly now, and Khadgar could see Lothar’s dark figure amongst the rocks. Soon, he would have nowhere to hide as the plateau gradually flattened and became grassy. 

Khadgar heard the war cry and saw the flying figure coming at him a split second before the weight of his opponent sent him rolling to the ground.

“Lok’tar Ogar!” the Orc spit as he aimed for Khadgar’s head with his broadsword.

Khadgar rolled out of the way, the sound of the sword hitting the ground making him spur into action and he stood up as quickly as he could. He was face to face with the Orc now. Khadgar rose his knife, which looked ridiculously small compared to the Orc’s weapon. A mean grin split the Orc’s face.

“Shatalia!” Khadgar made a wide gesture towards the Orc whose eyes widened at the use of the magic word.

When he realized the spell had not been aimed at him but at the weapon, his face paled as he found himself obliged to drop the now searing hot metal. Disarmed, he was now at Khadgar’s mercy. He started running away.

“Shirkala kratar!” Khadgr yelled after him. “You’re suddenly forcibly brought back by an unknown force,” he explained to the Orc.

He obeyed with a roll of his eye. “Cheater!” he spit as he got closer to Khadgar.

“Maybe,” Khadgar conceded and drove his knife into the other’s heart. 

“I’m keeping this,” the dead orc told him, smirking, as he grabbed the knife’s handle.

Khadgar cursed. He heard Lothar call out his name and turned his head. When he looked back, the Orc had already ran away, the black cloth around his head floating in the wind. Khadgar headed towards the way Lothar’s voice had clamored.

He found him standing above the still figure of the orc he had just slain, laying prostrate on the floor, the black cloth tied tightly.

“Scram,” Lothar ordered the Orc. He was out of sight almost immediately.

“I am so incredibly sick of this ground,” Lothar muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose with a pained grimace.

Khadgar chuckled lightly. His gaze wandered towards the top of the plateau. His eyes widened as he spotted two figures against the white sky, one seemingly on his knees while the other towered above him. Khadgar slapped Lothar’s arm, bringing his attention to the cliff.

“Lothar, look!”

Lothar nodded darkly.

“Come on,” he enjoined Khadgar.

They started walking side by side, heart stammering in anticipation of what would happen once they reached Medivh and Gul’dan.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tis the final chapter friends!

Chapter 8 

 

Llane stared at the wide opened fields ahead of him. He could feel the excitement growing behind him as the soldiers got ready for the day. The sun rose slowly behind him, casting long shadows ahead. In the distance he could see the orcs gathering.

Today was Friday. In just a few hours, Llane would surely be dead. He didn’t see any other outcome to this LARP. With the way things had evolved ever since Monday, he had come to terms with his inevitable death. It would be an honorable one, at least, on the battlefield, and weapon in hand.

He squinted as he spotted a dozen people walking through the fields, right in the middle of the Human zone. He turned and yelled out orders. A party of five started out into the field to meet the in-coming strangers. From here, he could not spot their tabard’s color. Llane watched as the party met with them and his curiosity spiked as he saw them retreating back to the camp, the strangers in tow.

Once they got close enough, Llane recognized the blue tabard on two of the newcomers. His eyes widened when he recognized Varis and Karos, and beside them Garona and Durotan. He recognized the others as Orcs who had come meet them at the pass.

Without hesitating, Llane started walking down the slight slope from the camp to the field.

“Varis! Karos!” he called out.

The two men snapped to attention. 

“What are you doing here? Who are these men?”

Varis and Karos quickly explained the situation to Llane before Durotan spoke up.

“King Llane,” he started, “I would like to offer my and my companions’ help in the upcoming battle. We have shed our colors,” he gestured to his tabard-less chest, “we will fight with the Humans against our own faction. We would not have it otherwise.”

Llane nodded slowly, eyes wandering towards Garona. She stood shyly to the side. Llane smiled.

“I have been told many good things about you, Durotan. I accept your help.”

They shook hands and Llane turned towards Varis and Karos. “Give these men weapons. They are going to need them.”

Everyone scattered until only Llane and Garona remained.

“King Llane,” she started.

Llane interrupted her. “Please, Llane will do.”

He noticed her face was down, mouth tight.

“Come,” he enjoined her, “tell me everything that has happened.”

They rejoined Taria in the leader’s tent. Garona told them in grand precision of what had happened back in the Orcs encampment. They stood forlorn when they learned Medivh had been taken away by Blackhand in the dead of night.

“I suspect Gul’dan will be with him. Blackhand has to lead the battle today, while Gul’dan casts his spell.”

The two leaders nodded. Garona felt comfortable standing here with them, a stark contrast with how she had felt the first time she had been left alone with them, only Khadgar to bring her some support, on the second day of the game. However, she couldn’t shake the memory of last night when Taria had given her the knife.

She took it out right now, handing it back to the queen.

“I can’t do it,” she told her.

Taria watched her, gaze unfathomable.

“You have to.”

Garona turned a wide gaze towards Llane. “You know?” she asked him.

He nodded, a soft smile gracing his lips. “I do. And you have to do it,” he told her, closing her hands around the knife’s shaft and bringing it close to her chest. “I would only trust you.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered, recognizing this as the honor it really was. Despite it, however, she prayed that she not have to go through with the mission the royal couple had bestowed upon her.

***

Winds blew strongly on the plateau. Khadgar stumbled slightly, vertigo making itself known in him as his head swam faced with the sheer height. He caught himself on a low rock, squinting against the rising sun. 

Their arrival had made Gul’dan turn around, and an ugly smirk had bloomed on his lips. His face was sickly pale, his back hunched under the weight of his ignominy. He was terrifying.

“Ah,” he snarled. “The mightiest warrior of Azeroth.”

Lothar did not react, his entire body tight as a string as he gazed at Medivh. His face was bruised, as if he had been slapped repeatedly, and his gaze was dead. When he heard Gul’dan speak, however, his head snapped and he gazed dumbfounded at both Lothar and Khadgar.

“And who do we have here?” Gul’dan’s glinting eyes wandered over to Khadgar and he felt a sickened shiver down his spine.

Lothar stepped in front of him, blocking him from Gul’dan’s view.

“We are here to stop you, Gul’dan,” Lothar growled.

The laughter that he elicited was chilling.

“Do you hear this, Medivh?” Gul’dan’s hand found its place atop Medivh’s head, ignoring the whole body shiver he gave at the touch. “The little warrior and his pet want to stop us.”

He had cooed that last part, and Khadgar felt revolted. This man was insane, he thought. How were they supposed to act against him? And what was a fictive victory worth against such a man? Khadgar had regained his composure, having finally gotten used to the height and the wind which threatened to have him topple over at any moment. He walked closer to Lothar, but was stopped by Lothar’s arm which shot to the side, grabbing him across the chest. Khadgar gasped.

“Lothar, what the fuck?”

“Stay behind me,” the warrior enjoined him.

Khadgar squinted at him in annoyance but he didn’t protest. Glancing back at Medivh, Khadgar felt his heart drop to his stomach. The older mage looked about ready to keel over. As far as Khadgar could tell, he wasn’t bound and yet he stayed on his knees, hands behind his back and back as straight as he could hold it. Gul’dan had started petting his hair and Medivh’s eyes had shut close, his mouth tight in unhidden disgust. Gul’dan didn’t seem to mind, a rictus still half-formed on his lips.

Khadgar wanted to launch forward and slap Gul’dan’s hand away from Medivh immediately. Lothar’s order kept him put, however, and he waited, nerves jittering under his skin. Lothar had started advancing carefully, wary of the slippery rocks and Gul’dan’s reaction. Sure enough, the sorcerer’s eyes suddenly snapped to Lothar and he stopped in his tracks.

“Do not try me, warrior,” Gul’dan hissed.

“Why are you doing this, Gul’dan?” Lothar’s voice clamored across the plateau.

A low chuckle escaped Gul’dan’s throat.

“Look,” he said, gesturing towards the stiff cliff only meters away from them, and from where they could gaze far and wide across the ground. They could see both armies gathering at the edges of the field, ready to face on another in what would be a bloody massacre should Gul’dan succeed in casting his spell. Even from this distance, they could clearly see the two leaders, standing ahead from their army, Blackhand and Llane.

Their attention was suddenly dragged elsewhere as a shout resonated across the rocks.

“Gul’dan!”

Moroes’s face appeared, looking stricken as he caught sight of the four people in front of him. He had obviously not been expecting Lothar and Khadgar to be here. A bad feeling lodged itself into Lothar’s throat.

“Oh,” Moroes dropped, glancing once at Gul’dan. “Please. Don’t let me stop you.”

He casually sat on a nearby rock. Khadgar blinked at him, wondering whether he was serious. It was obvious to everyone Medivh had been mistreated, hurt and held against his will, yet Moroes simply sat there?

“Well,” Gul’dan’s voice cut his thoughts short, “let us begin then.”

The sound of Lothar unsheathing his sword was unmistakable.

“Not so fast,” he growled, pointing his sword towards Gul’dan.

“What do you think you’ll do with that?” Gul’dan asked, contempt clear on his features.

Lothar charged.

***

The two armies faced each other. Twenty meters separated them. The excitement had reached unbearable levels as it ran electric through the ranks. Garona could feel it deep into her bones. She was afraid, she realized. Faintly, she thought about how all this was just a game but caught in the anticipation of the battle, she had trouble differentiating the game from reality. It all felt too real, like she was really an Orc and the people surrounding her Humans whose land was being invaded by cruel and blood thirsty beasts.

She held Taria’s knife tight in her hand, thumb idly brushing its shaft. Out of the hundred people who had started this game, barely more than half of them remained. The Humans’ side appeared to outnumber the Orcs, considering almost ten of them had switched sides. Right now, it seemed obvious who was going to win and this assurance could be felt in the attitudes of some Human soldiers. Garona knew better, though, and her gaze wandered North, to the cliffs of the plateau.

She caught movement and she squinted, trying to make out bodies and faces. She could clearly see Gul’dan, his hunched figure recognizable even from such a distance. She was unsure who the other two she could guess were. 

Focusing back on the field, Garona tightened her grip around her knife and then slid it back into its sheath, securely tied to her belt. She gripped the spear she had requested from Varis. She had ignored his surprised glance and he had given her the spear without commenting. Truth was, she had quite enjoyed fighting with it at the pass, and could see its obvious advantage to the small knives she had first carried, or even to the huge swords or hammers her fellow Orcs preferred.

Llane came into view, walking in front of his gathered army. Silence fell on the ranks as they waited for their King’s speech.

“Soldiers! Today is the final battle for the Black Morass. What will happen today will determine who is the winner, and who is vanquished. In front of you are beasts of no honor, no respect for their own or for their enemies. I am talking, of course, of the Horde!”

A whisper of agreement ran through the ranks.

“The Orcs,” Llane continued, “have proven that they are not, in fact, brutal beasts only interested in blood and death. We have forged a new alliance with the Orcs, an Alliance founded on mutual respect and faith. Today, we march to battle alongside the Orcs to defeat the vicious Horde. For Stormwind! For Stormwind and the Alliance!”

The soldiers answered the battle cry, raising their weapons in the air. Garona felt the rush of excitement run through her, and she joined everyone in the cheering. On the other side of the field, a sudden shout brought silence to the Human ranks. Two consecutive stomping of feet followed, before another shout shattered across the field. Everyone stilled as they watched the Orcs perform their battle dance, arms crossed on their chest and gazes firmly set on the Human ranks.

A shiver ran through the soldiers. If the Orcs’ objective was to be intimidating, they had succeeded. Garona swallowed uncomfortably.

Silence enveloped the two armies, and the GM, commonly known as Cook, walked forward. Garona wondered where Moroes was. Despite herself, her gaze wandered back to the plateau where the three figures had disappeared. A cold shiver ran down her spine.

The GM indicated the beginning of the battle, and all dissolved into shouting and fighting.

***

The winds blew ever strongly atop the plateau. 

“Rhui salher,” Gul’dan spoke, unhurried and unbothered.

Lothar had a moment of hesitation, as if he didn’t quite know if he should respect the rules and obey the spell or ignore it and keep charging. Moroes made this decision for him.

“A powerful force sends you backwards, Lothar.”

Lothar stumbled backwards violently, tripping on a jutting rock. Khadgar cried out. Lothar almost fell but managed to regain his equilibrium. Khadgar rushed to his side.

Gul’dan’s voice sent a chill down both their spines.

“Well, well, well… Look at the good puppy running to his master.”

Lothar was trembling under Khadgar’s hands. His face was distorted in growing anger. Khadgar tried to calm him through his gestures only, slowly rubbing his shoulders where he had grabbed them in his distress. Gul’dan’s words were intended to rile them up. They couldn’t rise to the bait.

“What do you say, Medivh?” 

Medivh’s head shot up, eyes wide at suddenly being addressed directly. Khadgar’s stomach churned at Medivh’s confused face.

“Ach pareth aras… garethas.”

Khadgar frowned at the words. They weren’t from a standard spell that had been provided by the ground’s organizers. Gul’dan must have invented it himself, but in order to do so, he had had to run it through with a GM. Confused, Khadgar, along with Lothar and Medivh, turned to Moroes. His face was kept carefully neutral, his hands behind his back.

“You are filled with the irresistible need to obey Gul’dan to his every word, Medivh.”

A whimper escaped Medivh. At the order to stand up, he did, and they could feel his exhaustion in the way the movement made him wince. Whatever Gul’dan intended to have Medivh do, Khadgar hoped it wouldn’t be too hard on him, however he doubted it. And it even seemed Moroes was on his side.

“Not that you’re not any fun, Lothar, but you’ll excuse me. I have a spell to perform.”

Lothar shook his head, muttering, “what?”

“Medivh. Attack those men.”

The look on Medivh’s face showed how sorry he felt as he glanced at Lothar and Khadgar. Gul’dan walked toward the cliff overlooking the fields as Medivh turned towards them. Moroes watched with a careful eye.

“Don’t let them get to me,” came Gul’dan’s last order.

Khadgar whispered hurriedly to Lothar: “Gul’dan can’t protect himself while performing the spell. We have to take down Medivh before being able to reach Gul’dan. But if we can stop him from finishing his spell…”

Lothar growled. “With Moroes here, Medivh has no choice but to attack us.”

“Let me take care of Medivh; Focus on getting Gul’dan to stop. He can’t finish his spell or we’re all doomed.”

Lothar nodded. Gul’dan had risen his arms towards the skies, where dark clouds had gathered in the last hour. It seemed a storm was brewing. The winds picked up and when they died down, the sound of Gul’dan’s voice clamored. He started shouting every word to the spell he had invented to wreak his revenge against Stormwind.

“Now, Lothar!”

Khadgar launched himself forward, ignoring Lothar’s outcry. He gathered everything Medivh had taught him about magic fights. He wondered how serious Medivh would take the spell he was currently under, but knowing his faith in the rules, Khadgar doubted Medivh would go easy on him.

“Shala’ros!”

***

Garona ducked and drove her spear through the enemy’s flank. Without staying around to see the reaction, she started running through the battlefield to aid a fellow Human soldier. She was battling against three much taller and broader Orcs. Garona jumped into the fight, her spear catching one of them behind the knees at the same time she flung it across another one’s face. The Human flashed her a thankful smile and Garona dove right back into the fight.

Orcs were everywhere and Garona could see way more blue tabards lying on the ground than red. They were losing, spell or not. The Orcs, despite their fewer number, were crushing them.

Garona rose her spear, intending to drive it through an incoming enemy’s chest when sudden and violent pain in her arm made her drop it. She kneeled immediately to avoid the swinging axe aimed at her. She threw out her foot to make him topple over and he fell face first to the ground. With her left hand, she grabbed the spear again and planted it firmly between his arm and chest. He groaned but reached for a black cloth.

Garona stood up, cradling her arm against her chest. She felt warm sticky liquid on her fingers where she wrapped them around her arm. She turned around, and stopped still. 

“Zakra…?” she whispered.

The woman in front of her, her red tabard ripped in several places, grinned madly. In her hand, she held a real knife, its blade glistening under the sun. This was the woman who had attacked her at the pass, and she had done it again today. Garona winced as her arm throbbed in pain.

“Come at me, bitch,” Zakra told her.

Garona growled. She took out Taria’s knife, the only weapon she had left. It was a fake, and Garona wondered how she could fight against Zakra when the blade in her hand was sharpened to the utmost degree.

Garona swallowed painfully. Zakra swiveled the knife in her hand, taunting her. In the split second before she attacked, Garona wondered what she could possibly have done to anger the Orc so much.

She rose Taria’s knife to parry the first hit and was surprised when, instead of the blade cutting through the knife as she feared it would, it slid right against it and Zakra had to avoid planting her own blade through her thigh. Garona and her stared with equal astonishment at the blade. Garona recovered more quickly, however, and she sent her fist right in Zakra’s face.

Blood spluttered out of her nose and mouth. Garona grinned. She kicked high in Zakra’s flank, relishing in the sound of air being expulsed from Zakra’s chest. Her next punch got her in the jaw and Zakra fell to the floor on her knees.

 

Garona stepped above her, falling to her knees behind her and hooking her arm around her throat, squeezing.

“Who’s the bitch now?” she hissed.

With one swift movement of Taria’s knife, she pretended to cut Zakra’s throat, producing a black cloth and wrapping it around the Orc’s head. Before she did so, though, she wiped the blood trickling down her chin with the cloth. She would have a nasty bruise, but her nose wasn’t broken. Garona swallowed her disappointment.

“I don’t know what I did to you,” Garona hissed into Zakra’s ear. “But I couldn’t care less. So scram.”

She released her hold on Zakra’s throat and stomped away rapidly, casting one last scornful glance to Zakra’s prostrate form on the floor, coughs hacking through her.

***

“Shir’kala!”

Medivh did not let him any time to finish. “Shala’ros!”

Khadgar stumbled backwards under the fictive strength of the spell. He was huffing, out of breath, and he could see Medivh was too. Lothar was not in any better shape. Everytime he had tried to approach Gul’dan, Medivh had reacted and stopped him, despite Khadgar doing his damnedest to distract him. Medivh was just too good for both of them. Meanwhile, Gul’dan was still casting his spell. Their fight had been somewhat distracting at times and Moroes had had to order him to begin the spell from the start twice already.

Fatigue was starting to settle in their bones. Khadgar cracked his knuckles. “Alright,” he muttered.

“Ullaman takan,” he shouted, pointing his hand, fingers outspread, towards Lothar. Moroes explained that he had enveloped Lothar in the protective shield.

“Go, Lothar!” he enjoined him. The warrior did not hesitate for an instant. Medivh started bomarding Lothar’s shield but that meant his guard was down.

“Shata’lia!”

“The fireball hits you straight in the chest,” Moroes said, voice poised.

Medivh cried out, stumbling. He tripped on a rock and went sprawling backwards.

“Medivh!” Khadgar yelled. He rushed to his side, helping the mage up.

Medivh’s eyes widened. His hand shot up and he grabbed Khadgar’s throat. Khadgar choked against his tightening fingers. He felt himself be lifted above the ground, his feet scuffing against the ground. 

“Medivh,” Khadgar whispered. He was lowered sensibly, just enough so that he wasn’t actually choking anymore. “Lothar!” he yelled out next.

Lothar had reached Gul’dan, who had interrupted his spell and now parried every move of Lothar’s with a spell of his own. He was, however, way less skilled than Medivh was, and Lothar was quickly gaining ground. Khadgar struggled to turn his head in order to watch.

With a wide swing, Lothar brought his sword down Gul’dan’s side.

With a loud sigh, Moroes proclaimed: “Your right arm had been cut off.”

Gul’dan’s gaze jumped onto Moroes. “What?” he asked, scandalized.

Every head turned towards Moroes who simply shrugged.

With an animalistic yell, Gul’dan launched himself towards Lothar, who rose his sword in defense. The sword planted itself between Gul’dan arm and chest. A gurgle escaped him as he fell across Lothar’s chest, who stumbled under his weight.

“Gul’dan is dead,” Moroes declared.

Khadgar was released instantly, Medivh’s hands grabbing him by the arms to keep him straight.

“Oh my god, Khadgar, are you alright?” the mage immediately fussed over him, apologies fusingr from his mouth. “I’m sorry, I got carried away, I’m so, so sorry.”

Khadgar chuckled. “I’m alright, Medivh.”

They heard a polite cough, and they turned towards Moroes.

“Because he was under his control, and because of the shock of his sudden death… Medivh dies too,” Moroes finished darkly.

Medivh gaped at him. Moroes dramatically gathered his robes and strode away. Khadgar could not help but think his attitude extremely peculiar. All throughout the fight, he had sounded extremely bored, or rather, annoyed. And there was the fact he had known to meet Gul’dan up here, had known about the spell and Medivh’s presence. Khadgar doubted Moroes had not known of Medivh’s quite literal abduction.

Medivh, right now, had sat down on a nearby rock, face suddenly pale. Khadgar cast a worried glance towards him.

“You…!” Khadgar’s head swiveled towards Gul’dan and Lothar. The former had straightened up, and was gesturing widely in Lothar’s stunned direction. He seemed to be swallowing back the words which fought their way up his throat.

“Argh!” Gul’dan finally yelled.

Lothar turned a confused and frightened face towards Khadgar and Medivh.

“You will pay!” Gul’dan seethed.

“I’d like to see you try again, Gul’dan,” Lothar told him.

A mean laugh escaped Gul’dan. “This is not over. Just look over to the battle over there, and to your precious king…!” Gul’dan dissolved into laughter then. He started walking away but he stopped next to Khadgar and Medivh. He looked Khadgar up and down, gaze assessing. Instead of speaking, he spat at Kahdgar’s feet, under his astonished gaze. Then, he began the trek down the cliff.

“What the hell?” Khadgar breathed out.

Medivh shook his head tiredly. “Don’t ask.”

Khadgar then turned towards Lothar, his name on the tip of his tongue. The sound died down however when he saw Lothar staring down the cliff to the fields, completely still and silent. Khadgar saw Medivh had noticed it also. All it took was one nod from Medivh for Khadgar to trot towards Lothar.

“Lothar! Are you alright…”

Khadgar’s gaze followed Lothar’s and he too stopped still.

“… No!”

***

Silence fell suddenly on the remaining soldiers. Only about twenty of them were still standing, breaths coming out in rapid short puffs. The divide made itself naturally, the Orcs falling back into their ranks and the Humans gathering quickly before them. All the dead soldiers stood to the side, where they could not both the ones still fighting. Everyone held their breath as Blackhand stepped forward.

He had his giant sword held in front of him, the tip of it pointed to Llane’s chest. Llane walked backwards under the press of the sword, his own weapon held loosely in his hand and dragging on the ground.

“Mak’gora,” Blackhand said.

A murmur ran through the gathered players.

“Blackhand challenges Llane Wrynn to a duel,” Cook announced.

Garona pushed her way to the front row, eyes blown wide. She glanced around, trying to spot Taria in the crowd. She was standing alongside Varis and Karos, in full plate armor. Garona had not seen her before the battle. Her armor was simpler than Llane’s, whose gold and blue plates glimmered under the sun, the golden lions’s mouth open on silent growls. Taria’s was almost entirely silver with the barest hint of gold underlining the engraved lion’s head on her chest. She stood straight backed, watching with a carefully neutral face as her husband prepared to face Blackhand in one-to-one combat.

Cook raised his arm, waiting for both opponents to have taken their positions.

“Ready? Start!”

As the two began circling each other, the crowd began chanting and cheering for each of them. The Orcs fell back into their battle dance, stomping their feet in step.

Llane attacked first. Blackhand parried and they fell into a steady exchange of hits and parries, one attacking the other again and again, never hitting their targets. With each hit came a wave of excited cheering, quickly followed by disappointed booing when it inevitably was parried. Before long, both adversaries sprung apart from each other and started circling each other again, under the excited yelling from the crowd.

Suddenly, Blackhand charged full force towards Llane, sword outstretched in front of him. Llane side-stepped and Blackhand ran past him, stumbling with his momentum. Llane saw the opportunity and went to slice Blackhand’s back. He recovered quicker than Llane had expected however, and his broadsword diverted Llane’s sword. It escaped from Llane’s grasp, flying meters away. Too far for Llane to reach.

Blackhand drove his blade through Llane’s chest.

Garona gasped, as if she had been the one stabbed.

Cook announced the winner of the Mak’gora as Blackhand turned towards the gathered Humans, a victorious grin on his face.

There was a moment of total silence before Taria stepped forward, unsheathing her sword. A wave of renewed energy ran through the Human ranks, and each grabbed their own weapon.

“The King is dead,” Varis yelled. “Long live the queen!”

“For the Alliance!” the ten or so soldiers shouted as they charged straight into the Orcs’ ranks.

***

Lothar fell to his knees as the blade drove through his King’s chest. Khadgar gripped his shoulder in sympathy, the same sorrow piercing his chest.

“You have to go, Lothar.”

Without saying a word, Lothar’s head turned to watch Medivh, who held his head in his hands, looking worse by the minute.

“I’ll take care of him. Go!”

Lothar stood up, renewed vigor running through his veins. He grabbed his discarded sword and made to go while glancing back at Kahdgar. Something stopped him and he gazed at the young mage for long quiet seconds.

“Lothar,” Khadgar pressed him.

He grinned, walked towards the mage and grabbed him by both shoulders, bringing him into a hug.

“I’m proud of you,” he whispered in his ears. Then, he dropped a kiss on his cheek before he started down the cliff and towards the fields.

Khadgar stood motionless, cheeks burning. Medivh’s chuckle was what brought him out of his stupor.

“He likes you,” he heard Medivh say. That did not help douse Khadgar’s blush.

***

Lothar ran. He did not know what had pushed him to hug and kiss the young mage before going, but he was glad he had. The inexplicable joy that had bloomed in his chest gave strength to his strides, strength that had been leaked out of him as he watched his King be slain by the same man who had killed his son. Lothar had a revenge to wreak.

His arrival was not unnoticed. At this point, the crowd of dead players was way larger than that of those still fighting. The Humans had organized themselves in a protective circle around their queen, aware that her death would mean their inevitable defeat. Lothar, however, came in from the Orcs’ unprotected flank. With a war cry which shattered across the fields with its loudness, he dove right into the battle, swinging his weapon expertly. In minutes, he had taken down two of the remaining Orcs and had attracted the attention of everyone.

“Blackhand!” he bellowed.

He found himself suddenly devoid of opponents. The Orcs stepped away from him, avoiding his wide swings best they could. They parted to let Blackhand through. Lothar pointed his weapon madly at him.

“You have killed my son. Now you have killed my king. Prepare to die.”

Blackhand didn’t bother to answer, instead dissolving into laughter which the Orcs echoed.

“I demand a Mak’gora,” Lothar announced. “If you Orcs still have some honor, you will accept it.”

There was an outrage amongst the gathered Orc, dead and alive. The insult seemed to have the desired effect, as Blackhand stepped forward, seemingly accepting the challenge.

Chatter had started between the Orcs, however, and one question stood out.

“Where is Gul’dan?”

The leader’s presence was required for the final battle, yet no one had even questioned Gul’dan’s absence at the beginning of the battle.

“Gul’dan is dead,” Lothar announced.

There were gasps, and shouts: “You’re lying!”

“It’s true.”

Everyone jumped at the voice. Moroes had joined Cook in their GM duty. His face was dark and he glared daggers at Lothar. The latter answered him with a crooked eyebrow, defying. 

“Gul’dan has been killed ten minutes ago by Lothar. Blackhand is now the Orcs’ leader, as was decided by Gul’dan yesterday.”

“Great!” Lothar said, swinging his sword. “All the more reasons to kill you, then.”

Blackhand chuckled, the sound low and gravelly. He stretched, making his muscles move and roll. Lothar smirked.

Everyone’s excitement had reached unbearable levels as the second duel of the day started. Lothar and Blackhand only circled each other twice before the sheer pressure from the crowd’s gaze spurred them both into action. They ran towards the other in perfect symmetry, silent and focused.

At the last possible moment, Lothar dropped to his knees, sliding in the wet grass. He raised his sword above his head and slid beside Blackhand, struck still by Lothar’s sudden action, and he rose on one knee, bringing the sword across Blackhand chest in one precise stroke. Lothar stood up on both legs, coming to a stop behind Blackhand.

The Orc fell to his knees, hands coming up to his chest. There was a second of silence before he fell face forward to the ground and the crowd erupted. Even the defeated Orcs cheered as they admired Lothar’s technique. He was overwhelmed by his fellow Humans coming to congratulate him, everyone itching to slap his shoulder or shake his hand. Slowly, victory was being sung by everyone on the battlefield as Blackhand was helped up by two Orcs, struggling to hide their laughter at their mud-covered comrade.

Lothar grinned as he came face to face with Taria. She herself sported a big smile on her dirt-streaked face. She was laughing half of joy, half of relief as the stress from the past week came to an end.

They had won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the epilogue!!


	9. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Khadgar exited the classroom with a loud sigh. He dove into the sea of students who marched in the corridor, trying to find his way out of the building. He had just stepped outside, squinting against the September sun, when he heard his name be called out.

He turned to greet Garona. After the LARP this summer, they had stayed quite close, their shared experience having created bonds stronger than they could have ever predicted. But they had defeated an evil sorcerer together, after all, and saved the honor of an entire species. 

They fell into companionable chatter, walking side by side as they headed for the mess.

After Blackhand had been vanquished by Lothar, the GMs had pronounced the Humans the winners of the game. They had all headed to the Humans’ camp to celebrate. The ground’s organizers had arrived with barrels upon barrels of beer along with enough steaks for everyone on the ground. Everyone had participated in making the meal. Night had fallen slowly above the Black Morass while the feast began and everyone rejoiced. Humans and Orcs had shed their colors and now fell back into real life, where they were all humans and they had all had a good game.

The day afterwards had been spent cleaning up, an activity that Khadgar had found way more sobering than the celebration the night before had been. As they removed all the tents, brunt out campfires, pickets from the ground, clearing it from any sign that it had ever been the place where Humans and Orcs had faced each other, Khadgar had been overcome by nostalgia.

That day, also, Khadgar had convinced Garona to signal Zakra’s behavior. She had told him everything that had happened during the final battle, and he had seethed with anger, seeing the new wound on Garona’s arm. He had pointed her in the direction of Cook, refusing to tell her why he preferred her to go to him rather than to Moroes. Khadgar had squinted in the direction of the GM, who was conversing with Llane at the time.

Then, they had all headed towards the parking lot. Nostalgia had grabbed hold of Khadgar once again and he had had trouble holding back his tears.

What had considerably brightened his mood, before he had hopped into his car and began the trek back home, had been what had been awaiting them outside.

Lothar had kept an eye out for them, calling them over as soon as they had appeared on the parking lot.

“I have an offer for you both,” he had told them, eyes glinting. They had exchanged a curious and surprised look. “What would you say to joining Stormwind’s ranks?”

Garona and Khadgar had gaped at him, disbelieving. They had agreed. Stormwind held monthly meetings, where any member was welcome to join to meet the others, discuss with fellow LARPers, or simply spend a good time with people they normally only saw in character. Khadgar and Garona had been to both July’s and August’s and well-intended to go to the one who was coming up in only two weeks, at the end of September.

Now that school had started again, they had begun hanging out more often together, much to the dismay of both their friends group. Khadgar’s had not been a friends group rather than people he knew and sometimes hung out with, and they had been happy to see him have a real friend. It had also, coincidentally, largely improved his relationships with them.

Today, however, Khadgar had other plans.

“Eat with me?” Garona asked him.

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “I can’t.”

“Oh, come on,” she started.

“I have a date,” he told her. She stopped suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk, gaping at him.

“You’re kidding!”

He nodded proudly, satisfied at her response. “I’m not.”

“With who?” she sounded happy despite the disbelief which transpired in her voice. Khadgar couldn’t blame her. It had come as a surprise for him, too. “Wait, let me guess. Lothar finally made a move.”

It was his turn to gape at her. “I’m sorry, but _finally_?”

Garona burst out laughing, a maniacal laugh which brought a frown to his face.

“Oh, Khadgar! You two were so _obvious_! Llane owes me now, though.”

She immediately took out her phone and started typing frantically.

“Please, Garona, don’t do this,” he complained.

“Why?” she laughed.

“Because I have no idea if he’s told them!”

She raised her head, staring at him with a face that seemed to say “ _Are you kidding me?_ ”

“Khadgar, darling, if you and Lothar start dating, there’s not a single soul on this planet who’s going to be able to ignore it.”

Khadgar blushed. He had not realized how obvious they had been but somehow, it pleased him. He had had some doubts about Lothar’s sincerity, at first. If Lothar’s feelings had been that clear to Garona and all the others, then he felt reassured.

“Please. You’ll collect your bet later, Rona, just let me talk to him first?”

She nibbled her lip, hesitating. Eventually, she turned off her phone, slipping it into her pocket. “Alright,” she agreed. He sighed.

They started walking again, having changed directions. They weren’t headed for the mess anymore but for the campus’ gate. They stopped, facing each other. Garona reached over and ruffled his hair, laughing as he tried to escape her.

“Well, have fun, Khaddy!” she told him.

He groaned. “Don’t call me that, for God’s sake.”

Her laugh followed him across the street as he headed for the restaurant Lothar had invited him to. He felt nervousness running through his veins at the thought that he was going on a date with Anduin Lothar. He thought back to two months ago, as he had been driving to the Black Morass ground, excited and stressed at the idea of meeting his idols from Stormwind. And now, he himself was part of Stormwind.

He didn’t realize the grin that had set itself firmly on his features before he was already facing Lothar, who had been waiting for him in front of the restaurant.

“Any particular reason for your good mood?” he teased him.

Khadgar blushed. “No,” he pouted.

Lothar smiled, a soft and kind smile which created butterflies in Khadgar’s stomach.

“Really? If you’re not happy I’m here, I can always go…”

“No!” Khadgar shouted. He slapped his hand across his mouth.

Lothar’s laugh soothed his embarrassment, and he grinned.

“Well then, shall we?” Lothar gestured towards the door.

“Sure,” Khadgar smiled.

As Lothar clasped his hand in his, holding the door open for him and then leading him to their awaiting table, Khadgar’s smile didn’t waver. He could get used to this, he thought.

 

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love LARPs. Love to be part of one, some day.
> 
> All jokes aside, thank you to every single one of you who left kudos or commented on this fanfic. it was, I have to admit, a lot of fun to write, although it was a _really_ bumpy road. I started writing summer 2016! This was the very first Liontrust fanfic I started, but not the first to have been finished. I hope you have all enjoyed the last chapters. Don't hesitate to leave a comment to let me know :) I love hearing from you.
> 
> See you around, Trustees!

**Author's Note:**

> Art by Finas over here : http://greywardenartist.tumblr.com/post/148955685272/drawings-based-on-oggys-wonderful-fic-love-and


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